Roommates
by Dragons-And-Merlins-Beard
Summary: When John Watson is forced to go to college and get his degree before joining the military what will happen when he meets the amazing, brilliant, and absolutely frustrating Sherlock Holmes? He struggles with the strange emotions he gets around him, as does Sherlock when he's around John. What will happen with the pair befriend each other? Teen!Lock & Johnlock. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey! This is my first Teen!lock and I'm really excited about writing it. I'm trying to get a good hold of what I would suspect Sherlock and John would be like in their years of Uni, so I'm still kind of working on that. Like all of my fanfic's I've written so far, it'll get better as the story progresses. Enjoy!**

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John Watson gripped the steering wheel of his car tightly as he drove. His eyes flickered to the his back seat where two suit cases and a small duffel bag were piled up. College. He was moving in to college and he was deathly afraid of going. Unlike his school back home, the university he would be attending was a very large with thousands of people.

It was the college his mother forced him in to since it was rating in the top ten list in all of the United Kingdom and he just so happened to land a part-time scholarship. He wanted to join the army but his mother would only allow him to do so if he got his bachelor's degree first. Four years ahead of him full of work, studying, and microwave dinners.

He suppressed a sigh and continued driving carefully as he always did. He should just be glad he was accepted in to such a well-spoken school. He decided that the years he'd be in college that he'd go forth in studying to become a doctor, or something in the medical field, even if he'd end up joining the military service. He wanted to take after his dad and not slip in to the steps of his alcoholic sister.

His eyes glided over the scenery that lay before him outside his windshield. He saw the beginning of the buildings that made up the university. Even the singular buildings were huge compared to the small shops around. He quickly put on his turn signal and pulled in to the entrance. There were several cars in front him being granted access to enter in to the parking lot. It wasn't too busy considering it was two days before classes actually started but he had thought it a logical idea to start to move in to his dorm before he would be swamped with class work.

A lot of students even started moving in a week before hand. John figured he didn't need that much time and wanted to spend a good amount at home before he was off to start his life, his mother also insisted this.

John pulled up to the woman in the small stand, rolling his window down. "Student pass?"

"Ah, yes." John said and quickly pulled his wallet out. He slipped his student ID from the second pocket and handed it to the woman to scan.

She handed it back, "Go ahead."

John murmured his thanks and slipped his ID carelessly into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled in to the parking lot, trying to remember what parking space he'd been assigned. He reached down in between the console and chair and found a paper with his student information on it. C47.

He easily found section C but had slight difficulty finding his designated space. He eventually pulled in to spot 47, slightly crooked, and got out of his car. There weren't many other cars parked around his. Most people must wait till the day before classes to move in. John shrugged to himself then started to pull his suit cases and bags from the back seat of his car. He set them down by his back tire and quickly shut the car doors and locked it up.

The bags weren't too heavy to carry, except for the suit case containing his laptop, Xbox, and small TV. He was quite pleased that the university allowed electronics such as video games. Even though he assumed he'd spend nearly every waking moment doing work he hoped on the weekends he'd be able to sneak some time to himself to play Battlefield, Black Ops, or Red Dead Redemption.

He took a while dragging all of his baggage around the small dorm buildings trying to find the one he was to reside in. He finally found it, building three. He used his shoulder to open the door and stumble inside. His eyes instantly caught sight of a few, what seemed to be, freshman lounging around the lobby of the building.

"Hey!" One called from his seat on a small beanbag. He looked a bit older, possibly a sophomore in college. His hair was dark brown but already slightly tinged with grey. "Freshmeat?" He grinned.

John nodded, "Yeah."

"I'm a junior, I kind of supervise everyone 'round here. Don't worry, I'm not too strict." He winked, then got to his feet to outstretch his hand to John, "Greg Lestrade."

"John Watson." He replied and took Greg's hand and shook with a smile.

"What room ya' got, John?" He asked.

John fished his student ID and looked at where it had his room number below his weight and height. "221b."

"Ah. That's the second floor. Say, 221b? Isn't that where that one freshman went to? The weird one?" Greg turned to look at the other guys sprawled across the furniture.

"Yeah. I think his name was Sherman or something like that. He seemed a bit odd. Moved in two days ago." A brunette answered.

"Wonderful." John huffed sarcastically. Last thing he needed was a psychotic roommate. He sighed and waved a silent goodbye and headed toward the stairs that would lead him up to his floor. His eyes grazed over all of the door number until he finally found his, 221b. "Here we go." He muttered under his breath and dropped one of his bags to knock on the door.

He heard some shuffling inside and the slight clinking of glass before the doorknob turned and opened. There stood a tall and thin guy barely looking twenty. He had a mop of dark curls on his head and intensely deep blue eyes. His skin was pale but his face was beautifully sculpted making him extremely handsome and overall attractive.

John caught himself staring a moment too long and he quickly forced words out of his mouth, "I'm your roommate." He managed to choke out.

The man in front of him seemed to be staring at him as well, taking in his features. Tousled blond hair, slightly tanned face, dark green eyes, and round nose tip. The man found himself feeling a weird sensation in his stomach at the person's appearance. "Sherlock Holmes." He finally said in his deep baritone voice. He offered his hand.

John nearly shivered at the deepness of the man's voice. He took his hand and shook it, "John Watson."

"Please do come in." Sherlock forced himself to say politely and stepped aside so John could go in. He carefully dragged himself and his luggage in with him. It was decently sized room with two twin beds pushed off to the sides with a desk in front of each and two dressers in the middle. There was a small kitchen area off to the corner with a sink, mini fridge, and microwave.

He noticed on one desk there were several beakers and test tubes holding strange liquids set up with papers scattered around it.

"It's pretty nice in here." John commented.

"Yes. My thoughts . . . precisely." Sherlock replied. "This is your bed, desk, and dresser." He said gesturing towards the bed at the farther corner of the room. John nodded and hobbled over to the bed so he could throw his things up on to the mattress. "You're a freshman too, I presume?"

John glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah, you too? You look kind of young."

"I'm only seventeen. I've started college earlier than most." He said blankly. John noticed shelves above both of their beds and that Sherlock's already harbored a skull and a small stack of papers. Skull. That was odd alright.

"So you must be pretty intelligent then, eh?" John said, pursuing conversation.

"Yes, quite." Sherlock answered, but not at all gloating, only stating fact.

"What classes are you taking?" John asked as he opened up the dresser to begin putting away his clothes.

"Why does that matter?" Sherlock asked rather rudely.

"I was just asking." John stopped what he was doing to look at Sherlock. He seemed like a stiff and guarding person so he just sighed and kept putting his things away.

"Oh, I suppose you're trying to make small talk? Let me just say that I'm not one to make friends or stay and chat. I study most of my hours and play my violin the other free time I have. I hope you don't expect a roommate that is going to be your best friend, because I will tell you here and now that is not me." Sherlock stated, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I don't have many friend anyways, so nothing I'm not used to." John mumbled as he tried to stuff one more article of clothing in the top drawer.

Sherlock sat down on his bed, eyes glues to John, and let out a small grunt. "Most people would have told me to 'piss off' by now. Aren't I being rude, because that's what they always say when I act like myself."

"I'm just used to it." John said, shutting the drawer. "I never really had any friends in school. I just kind of stayed to myself. I mean I guess I hoped it'd be a bit different here but I was a fool to think so. I'll let you be with whatever you've gotta do and you let me do what I have to. Simple as that." John shrugged.

"I have Foreign Language, Writing, Psych, Computer Science, Economics, Philosophy, Chemistry, and Linear Algebra. I have a couple extra next semester." Sherlock listed out.

"That's a lot. I only took five courses this semester." John said, hiding his slight smile of satisfaction.

"Which ones did you take?" Sherlock asked, honestly interested.

"Writing, Economics, Calculus, Theater, and Electrical Engineering." He answered.

"Didn't you peg you for being an actor. You're obviously not here completely out of your own choice. Your mother of father forced you here before you joined the military." He rested his chin on his hands.

"How did you know that?" John said, taken aback.

"No one with a such random schedule is planning on a career that they'll need schooling for. Also the way you've organized your things is very neat and signals your father or mother - father most likely - was in military making it a mindset to be tidy and organized and it is quite plausible that you'd wish to follow in their footsteps. There's more I could go on about but usually if I do I'll end up getting punched in the face." Sherlock explained, sweeping his eyes over John.

"That was . . . brilliant." John said in awe.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Of course." John smiled. Surprisingly enough Sherlock smiled back.

John leaned back on to his bed and stretched out already feeling tired even though it couldn't be minute past two in the afternoon.

"John."

John turned his head to look at Sherlock who was still sitting up on his bed, legs now crossed, "Yeah?"

"I was being completely truthful when I said I don't make friends; but there's something different about you. So I would like to become friends with you." He said, almost shyly.

"Of course." John grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh my goodness! Already seven followers! Thank you! I've decided for this story that I'm going to take the time to reply to everyone's reviews right here before the chapter! So here it goes:**

**xSommerRegen: Thank you! I really hope you will enjoy the whole story, I plan to make this particular one a bit of a lengthy one. Your review was much appreciated. c:**

**Enjoy.**

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John was jerked away from sleep when the loud sound of music began to fill the room. He groggily sat up in his bed to peer at the man who was standing in front of his bed by the window. Violin. He was playing the violin. "What the hell are you doing?" John grumbled.

The music ceased and Sherlock turned to look at John, "Playing violin, isn't that obvious?"

John's eyes flicked up over to his alarm clock he'd set up before he'd drifted off into sleep. "It's bloody three in the morning! You're going to wake up everyone on campus!" John complained.

"I'm not the one yelling in the middle of the night." Sherlock replied calmly. "Besides, I don't sleep often. Even if I did I would never sleep on that uncomfortable mattress." He glared accusingly at his bed.

John's bed felt perfectly fine to him so he figured Sherlock must be used to expensive and high quality objects. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just read a book or something. Don't play your violin while everyone's trying to sleep."

"No one's sleeping except you. I don't know if there's even anyone in this building besides you and I. Everyone else has left to go to a welcome back party in building one." Sherlock said, setting his violin in it's case on his desk chair. "Greg wanted to invite you but as you were sleeping and seemed quite exhausted I told him it wouldn't benefit you."

"Damn it, Sherlock. Maybe I wanted to go." John growled, throwing his blanket off of himself. A party to go and meet friends and get more familiar with the campus would've definitely benefited him. He barely remembered falling asleep, it must've been when he'd completely finished unpacking and curled up under his sheets to test out his bed.

"I apologize, but if you go to that party I can almost guarantee you'd come back here drunk out of your mind and I'm not going to be there to hold open the toilet for you to puke out your guts." Sherlock grumbled. "Say, have you got a spare blanket? Not all of my luggage has been shipped here yet."

"No, I've only got the one, and you said you don't sleep." John glared at the annoying teenager. Sherlock said something under his breath and before he knew it was crawling up on to John's bed. He tugged a partial of the blanket from John and pulled it over himself.

"What are you doing?!" John exclaimed, pressing back against the wall. Sherlock lifted his head and turned it so he side glance at John.

"I needed a blanket." Sherlock answered simply. "You haven't even got your pajamas on, so who's the one who needs this more right now?" A smirk crawled on his lips and he nestled his head back down in to a comfortable position.

John angrily crawled over Sherlock in order to hop on to the floor. He yanked open one of his drawers and pulled out a paint-stained t-shirt and a pair of plain blue pajama bottoms. "Don't look." He ordered as he began to strip off his beige jumper and jeans and replace them with a more comfortable pair of clothing. He hoped he'd be able to push the lanky student off of his bed and force him to sleep in his own bed but as he climbed back into his spot he found that he didn't want to.

"Look, you can sleep here tonight," John addressed Sherlock, staring in to his still awake eyes, "But this will not be made a habit, because for one this bed is way too small to hold us both."

Sherlock didn't reply with words but just gave a muffled snort and grabbed one of John's pillows to press his curly head of hair against. John sighed and pulled the small sliver of blanket that Sherlock had left him over himself and closed his eyes. He felt uncomfortable sleeping face towards Sherlock so he gradually shifted on to his other side facing the wall.

Sherlock stretched out a bit more and curled back up even closer to John, his head even rested against the back of John's neck so that he could feel his warm breath against his skin. It sent a slight shiver down his spine.

He nearly broke out laughing at the fact that this guarded and stoic teenager several hours ago was explaining how he didn't have friends and all of that but now here he was practically curled up against John. "Is this what your idea of friends is, then? Cuddling?" John whispered with a soft chuckle. Sherlock sighed, causing a warm flutter of air to bounce against John's neck.

"You're welcome to sleep in my bed or the floor." He whispered grimly. "But since they keep these building below freezing, nearly, I do actually prefer that of another source of heat while I try to scrounge up a few hours of rest."

"As long as you aren't playing violin." John murmured then nestled his head in to his pillow and tugged more of the blanket over himself. He had a feeling that when he woke up that he wouldn't have any of the blanket at all. He stifled a sigh and slowly drifted off in to sleep listening to Sherlock's rhythmic breathing.

x

Sherlock woke up with a start as the person beside him started to shout out and flail around. "J'hn?" Sherlock called out groggily, "John what's wrong?" He tried to make out John's features in the darkness of the room.

His eyes were still closed yet his whole body seemed tense and his face was contorted with fear and despair. Sherlock sat up and placed a gentle hand on his elbow, "John?" He whispered. His eyes shot open and flinched at Sherlock's presence before he realized where he was. He visibly relaxed and pressed his hands over his face taking a deep breath of relief. He'd been having a nightmare.

"I'm sorry I woke you." He whispered in a slightly strained voice. He dropped his hands to his side and stared up at the ceiling, "What time is it?"

Sherlock eyes flickered to John's alarm clock, "Five-thirty. You should go back to sleep, nightmares usually drain energy from you to where it was as if you weren't sleeping at all." A darkness set over Sherlock's features.

John gave a slight nod and uneasily slid back down and pulled some of his blanket over his shoulder. Sherlock was right, without someone else pressed against him and only having a single thin blanket, it was nearly freezing in the building. He shivered and hugged his arms tightly over his chest wishing he'd be able to slip in to a more peaceful sleep, but that never happened.

Ever since his father had joined the military he'd had nightmares of him . . . had nightmares about scary men in camouflaged suit holding heavy machine guns pointing at him. He often dreamed of watching his father strapped down to a metal table being tortured by people of a foreign tongue. Even though his father had retired from the army a year and a half ago he still remained haunted by the night terrors.

"The nightmares, what are they about?" Sherlock questioned, slipping down next to John bringing a pleasant warmth with him.

"Don't worry about it." John murmured. He hadn't even told his mother or sister about his dreams, they were something he kept to himself.

Sherlock remained silent; he already had a well educated guess of what John's nightmares were about and that he'd been having them since he was young. He thought back to when he was a very small child and would run to his brother's in the middle of the night afraid of his dreams. Back then it was usual for his brother to let him in his bed and hold him through the night to rid away the terrors, now it was impossible to think such a thing ever happened.

Sherlock reluctantly wrapped an arm around John's torso and pulled him in close, he almost pulled his arm away when John's whole body stiffened but kept it when he relaxed. John didn't care how awkward they must look in that bed because he was just thrilled to have made friends with someone who claimed to not wanting any or really that he had made a friend at all. "This isn't going to be a habit is it?" Sherlock murmured in to John's ear.

John chuckled and shook his head before drifting back into a surprisingly peaceful dream.

x

Sherlock awoke a mere two hours later around the time he usually aroused. His arm was still tucked around his roommate and he felt himself blush slightly; he worried about the fact that he didn't want to remove his arms nor get up from the position he was in. He quite enjoyed being so close to John, but even admitting that to himself made himself cringe. He let out a soft sigh and untangled himself from John and the blanket and pushed himself up to his feet.

He felt well rested and ready for his first year at Uni. If he was correct he would possibly have John in two classes during the day and get to see him once more during the evening when they were both finished with their classes for the day. Sherlock was never aware of how nice the gift of friendship felt, how exciting. He mentally scolded himself for feeling this way but didn't linger on it too long.

He ran a hand through his disheveled head of curls and began to hunt through the small bag he'd brought with him hoping he'd have a change of clothes. He wasn't sure if he'd only packed a pair of clothes for one day and night, he hoped not.

He luckily found a white button up shirt and a fresh pair of trousers. He'd even, uncharacteristically, packed a pair of jeans. He balled up his clothes and made for the bathroom connected to their room at their disposal. Unfortunately it was also connected to the dorm next to his so he had to remember to lock both doors.

He threw off his dressing robe, t-shirt, and pajama bottoms kicking them in to an untidy pile next to the shower. He then quickly threw on his shirt and bottoms listening next door wondering if their neighbors had moved in yet. He could hear the very faint sound of breathing and concluded one member of the dorm had moved in and had gone to the party last night due to the ragged breathing pattern of the person and the slight waft of alcohol.

Sherlock began to button up his shirt as he pushed back in to his room. John was slightly stirring but remained in a state of sleep. Sherlock quietly shut his violin case and slid it underneath his desk so he could take a seat in his chair. He fumbled with the countless beakers, test tube, graduated cylinders, and microscope slides trying to pull them in to some sort of organization.

He'd started an experiment the day he'd got here but had hopelessly abandoned it trying to snoop around and figure out everyone's life story so he'd know how to deal with each and every one of them. A single beaker sat in front of him holding hydrochloric acid, he hadn't even thought about concealing it so it wouldn't spill and burn holes in the floor.

He grabbed it and brought it over to the sink careful that it didn't slosh over the sides. He set it carefully in the sink and turned on the tap letting a few drops of water drip in so the acid would dilute enough to be able to dump out.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned around and offered a smile at John who sat up tiredly in his bed. He looked absolutely adorable with his sandy hair tousled messily about his head and his dark green eyes glazed over with sleep. Sherlock internally smacked himself for even thinking about that. "Good morning, John." He forced out.

John yawned widely and rubbed tiredly at his eyes like a sleepy child, "Thanks for . . . er . . . last night." John said, unsure how he could say it without it sound completely awkward, "For helping me with the, uh, nightmares . . . "

"You're welcome." Sherlock replied and turned back to the sink.

"Are you going on one of the campus tours today, or have you already been on one?" John asked, stumbling on to his feet.

"I don't need a tour. I've got a map." Sherlock murmured, trying to keep focused on the hydrochloric acid.

"A map." John giggled, "How about you and I just go and have a look around today? I mean only if you want to." John added shyly hoping he wasn't pushing his limits with the strange teenager.

"Possibly, it's not as if I have anything better to do." Sherlock sighed, adding a small stream of water in to the beaker, "I try not to engage myself in to trivial things, but if there's nothing more to do and my luggage has not arrived by then than I suppose it wouldn't be a terrible idea."

John cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Right. Well, if you want to just tell me when and, um, we can go."

"Indeed." Sherlock replied, tapping impatiently at the beaker.

John nodded and rummaged through his newly organized dresser and picked out a red plaid button up shirt and jeans and made his way to the bathroom. His first official day of being on his own and it felt as if it was going to be quite alright.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Lulabell143: Thank you! I'm trying hard to get a lot in for this story, soon I'll be finished with my other story I'm writing so I can fully focus on this one. c:**

**RainyDays-and-DayDreams: I love writing fluffy cuteness for Johnlock so I'm pleased to hear that you love it! c: here's the update c:**

**xSommerRegen: I really love the thought of them in one bed too c; Cuddling is simply my favorite for all of my OTP's. **

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John stared at his reflection in the mirror trying to drag a brush through his messy hair. Even if Sherlock decided against going with him out to tour around the campus he was going to go. He felt it quite vital to get more used to his surroundings and to know where most things were so he wasn't scrambling around tomorrow and become completely lost.

There was a sudden knock on the door of his dorm so he quickly buttoned his shirt up all the way, tossed his brush in to the sink, and strode in to the room to answer the door. Sherlock hadn't bothered to get it himself as he was leaning over the sink staring down the drain looking as though in deep thought.

John brushed his hand quickly through his hair before opening up the door. Greg Lestrade and familiar looking brunette boy stood there. "John!" Greg greeted with a toothy smile.

"Hello." John said pasting a smile on to his lips.

"Missed you at the party last night. Would've been fun," He lowered his voice, "There were tons of chicks there, you could've definitely scored at least one of em'."

John coughed uncomfortably, "Ah, I'm not very, er, smooth with women. I was pretty tired anyways. . ." John shrugged and stared shyly down at the ground. The brunette boy laughed snidely and rolled his eyes, getting a side glare from Greg.

"Well, just stopped by to say good morning - oh! Also, Anderson here, wanted to know your schedule in case you and the other guys had any classes with each other." Greg said, elbowing the boy next to him who offered a quiet 'yeah'. John nodded and quickly went over to his bags to fish out his crumpled up schedule paper and as he walked back over to the door he noticed both guys glancing curiously over at Sherlock who was now sticking some sort of utensil down the drain.

"Here." John said, causing both of their eyes to snap back at him, "These are my classes for this semester."

Anderson snatched the paper up from John's hand and scanned over it, "Hmm. One class the same, but might be at different times." He commented, pushing it back at John.

John nodded and nervously jammed his hands in to the pockets of his jeans. "Well, er, you must have things to do." John murmured.

"Yeah, yeah. Tons of things. Hey, how about later you come with me and a few of the other guys to go scope out the ladies by the girl's dorm buildings?" Greg offered with a sly grin.

"Oh I don't know . . ." John said, finding a sudden interest in his socked feet.

"You gotta live man! It's college." Lestrade laughed, patting him on the shoulder, "Well I'll stop by later in case you change your mind." He then grabbed Anderson by the elbow and rushed down the hallway and down the stairs. John slowly push the door close and stretched his arms up above his head with a yawn.

"Are you going to go with them?" Sherlock's rich baritone voice slightly startled John.

"Probably not. I really don't need to be chasing after girls my freshman year." John chuckled softly.

Sherlock felt a strange sense of relief but pushed it away and looked over at John, "Why not?" He ventured further. John just shrugged and crawled in to his bed, pulling his laptop out of his bag. He turned it on and leaned back against the wall, pillow supporting his lower back.

"You've brought your laptop?" Sherlock asked, slowly emerging from his spot hovered over the sink.

"Yeah, and my Xbox. It's allowed luckily. They're kind of my breaks from work, my reliefs." John answered, typing in his password.

"Xbox?" Sherlock frowned, "What's that?"

John abruptly looked up from his laptop, mouth gaping, "You don't know what a Xbox is?"

Sherlock scoffed, "No. I don't mess with insignificant things, only things that personally benefit me and possibly the world." He wrapped his arms defensively around his chest.

"It's a gaming system, that's all." John murmured, diving back into his laptop trying to open up his blog page.

Sherlock stared at John trying to decide what he was doing on his laptop without looking at his screen. It took him a few seconds to deduce he was either on his email or on his blog. It was hard to tell. He stepped around the bed and peered over John's shoulder. Blog it is. "You have a blog?" He asked, subconsciously resting his chin on John's shoulder.

John glanced sideways at Sherlock with wide eyes. It was really hard to tell the guy's mood since it already was seeming to change in an instant nearly a hundred times a day. His sharp blue eyes shot past John and to his computer analyzing the words on the page. John turned his head back to the computer not being able to suppress the feeling he got when Sherlock was so close.

"Blog, yeah." He said with a small gulp. He balled up his hands hoping they'd stop shaking, and that his palms would stop sweating, "My mum made me go to a therapist a few months after my dad . . . left, and she set me up a blog. I guess I kind of stuck with it since then." He nervously tugged at his sleeves and felt aggravated with how shaky and nervous he felt.

"What do you write about?" Sherlock pressed further, taking a seat on the bed behind John but keeping his head settled upon John's shoulder.

"Just everyday stuff. Nothing special." John said in a small voice, biting his lip. Sherlock gave a low sort-of grunt in response. John clutched his shirt tightly as his stomach flipped and chills went down his spine.

"Are you quite alright?" Sherlock asked lifted his head.

"Yes." John whispered, grasping the sides of his laptop. He kept his gaze on his keyboard hoping there was no more questioning from Sherlock. When there was silence he shut his laptop and stuffed it back into his bag of electronics. "I think I'm going to go ahead a take a look around campus." John said as he got up from the bed and shuffled around to find his jacket.

"May I accompany you?" Sherlock in a rather irregular polite voice.

John gritted his teeth, of course he wanted Sherlock to go with him, but these feelings were foreign and aggravating. He just wanted some time to be on his own and think of everything before it got the best of him. For all he knew they'd start walking and Sherlock would start insulting him and claim they weren't friends and that he didn't have friends.

"Yeah, sure." John replied forcing a smile on to his face which he knew Sherlock didn't buy, but didn't comment on.

Sherlock nodded and squatted down next to his bed to pull out a long black over coat from underneath. He pulled it on over his clothes and buttoned it up quickly before grabbing his small bag and rummaging through it. He grumbled under his breath as he tossed strange jars and zip lock bags from his small item of luggage before he held out a thick blue cotton scarf that he slung around his neck. "Off we go then." He smiled.

John grabbed his own coat, slipping it on, and followed after Sherlock out in to the hallway.

x

The pair walked down the walkways paved within the campus gazing at all of the large buildings. As soon as they had left the dorm building they had remained silent and had walked together for around an hour. At first the silence was fine and seemed normal and unnoticeable but it soon became stiff and uncomfortable so John pressed out a few words in hope of some sort of conversation, "Maybe we could stop by the dining hall for lunch? They should be open right?" John himself already felt hungry as he hadn't even eaten breakfast.

"We can go but I must say I will not eat, not hungry. I don't eat much. Only a few times a week. I ate two days ago so I should be okay for today." Sherlock said as if it were not a completely absurd statement. John gaped at him, not having to have much medical experience to know that was completely unhealthy.

"My God, Sherlock. You need three square meals a day - not three a week! You're eating today and every other day as long as your rooming with me." John scolded sternly.

Sherlock sighed impatiently and shook his head, "I'm a lot different from other people, mind and body, the quicker you realize that the better."

"That's not excuse at all. You're still human so you still need food supplement everyday. I don't care if you only eat a single meal a day but you're not spreading a few meals across a whole week as long as we're friends." John stated. "Honestly, Sherlock." He added after Sherlock rolled his eyes disbelievingly.

Sherlock looked as though he were biting back words and debated what to say before he finally grumbled, "Fine."

x

Sherlock stared down at his tray of food as if expecting it to explode or something irrational. John was busy piling macaroni and cheese in to his mouth as if he were a starved five year-old. Sherlock had grabbed a small styrofoam bowl of custard and few slightly burnt fish fingers - along with a small cup of black coffee. John on the other hand had stacked a rather large bowl of macaroni, potato wedges, two packs of saltine crackers, peanuts, and a small cup of tea on to his tray.

Sherlock dipped a finger in to his custard and brought it to his lips for a taste test, grimacing at the poor quality. Food seemed quite repulsive at the current moment and the fact that John was ravaging his food only made his appetite grow even more weary. He picked up a fish finger between his fingers and bit off the end and chewed it softly and watched John finish of his macaroni and start on his crackers and potato wedges.

Sherlock stuck his tongue out in distaste and experimentally doused his fish finger in his meek bowl of custard and stuffed it in to his mouth. He chewed and felt a spark on his tongue that spread a comforting warmth throughout his body. He let out a small moan of satisfaction and grabbed another fish finger repeating the action of dipping it in to his custard and pushing it in to his mouth.

He didn't notice John's widened stare of slight disgust as he ravenously drowned fish fingers in to custard and then in to his mouth. Once he finished off the rest of the fish he lapped up the remaining custard not bothering to use his spoon.

"Good grief." John murmured, "That's a rather odd combination, Sherlock."

Sherlock smirked, "Well it was surprisingly good to the taste." He looked up at John, "Besides I ate something did I not?"

John smiled, "Yeah, you did. Maybe I should go out and buy you some fish fingers and make you up a batch of custard so I can get you to eat back at our room."

"Maybe." Sherlock mumbled as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips to take a small sip. John shook his head, a grin spreading across his face, and stuck a saltine cracker on to his tongue. They sat quietly at the table for a few moments longer as they finished up their lunch and just as they were about to get up and throw away their waste a petite woman approached them.

Her eyes were set on John more so than Sherlock. "Hello!" She smiled, "Greg was telling me about you! He was texting me yesterday telling me about the newbies."

"Greg Lestrade?" John raised an eyebrow. She nodded. Sherlock carefully grazed his eyes over the woman taking in all the details he wanted to know. He had to suppress his smirk as he didn't want her questioning what he found amusing because he would have to start to rattle off her life story and be rewarded with a smack to the face.

"I'm Sarah." She introduced putting her hand out.

John took her hand and shook gently, "Yes." He eyed her name badge, "You work here, then?"

"Work and attend. I work the registers from nine to one in the after noon." She replied, not taking her hand from John's. This small fact seemed to bug Sherlock so he abruptly stuck his own hand out and forced a handshake on the fragile-looking girl.

"Sherlock Holmes." He said in a deeper voice than usual. She looked slightly terrified for a few moments before pasting a smile on to her face and introducing herself once more. "Just arrived last night, did you?" He questioned before being able to hold back his natural thrill of deducing.

Her cheeks tinted red, "Excuse me, what?"

"You got here late last night because you live quite far from here. I can tell by the slight lilt in your accent and the fact that your watch is off by a few hours. So you left sometime in the afternoon and got caught in a good bit of traffic causing you to arrive late last night. Such a long drive would make you tired I would believe, normal people need so much time to sleep, so you most likely just grabbed a blanket out from your luggage and nodded off to sleep. When you woke you completely forgot that you had to work your first shift today therefore you were in an immense hurry by looking at the state of your hair, face, and hasty dressing. Your shoes are also slightly caked in dirt because you didn't have time to take the walkways you went directly across the grass in order to get here on time." Sherlock took a deep and slightly irritated breath.

"I . . ." Sarah was staring at him with curiosity and also fear, "That's . . ."

"I'm sorry. He's a bit scary when he does that." John apologized on Sherlock's behalf, he glanced back at Sherlock and quickly added, "But amazing."

"Right." Sarah managed, "Well, um, John. I'll see you around." She smiled meekly and turned away to walk back to her duty.

John let out a long and disappointed sigh, "Sherlock you twat. She was very nice. I know what you do is quite extraordinary but some people are frightened that you know those specific things about them.

"I don't know these things, John, I observe them." Sherlock growled, yanking his tray from the table and childishly storming off to find a waste bin. John bit back a retort and picked up his tray to follow after him. It was weird how Sherlock had approached Sarah almost hostilely as if guarding John from her. John threw out his cup and bowls and set his tray in the rack.

He spun around to look around for Sherlock but couldn't find him anywhere. He'd just been there two seconds ago and now he'd vanished. John pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Sherlock Holmes was going to be quite a pain in his ass.

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**A/N: So at the end I was going to add, "But a good pain in the ass." Just as I was about to I was like, "Wait. Oh...woah. That sounds really wrong." Heh. So I left it out so no one would take it in a completely wrong way. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. It took me a bit of a while to write it because I had finished it off very nicely with amazing detail and my internet went out causing the whole document to vanish. So I kind of felt really frustrated and so this version is kind of rubbish, my apologies. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it's taking a while to upload these chapters. I'm trying to get one out every week. School is hard enough for me but I also have Drama and Academic Team after school so it's getting really difficult to find time to write.**

**Also on another note I want to say that I plan on taking John and Sherlock's relationship a bit slow. Not agonizingly slow but just slow. Also Sherlock, in this particular story and because he's a teen, isn't as rude. His overall personality is a bit softened - I also give him a better sense of humor - because afterall he is only a teenager so I feel he hasn't had enough to time to completely despise everyone yet. c:**

**Enjoy you cute little buttons. **

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"Sherlock?" John called out as he wandered down the hallways away from the cafeteria. His eyes darted around in hopes of catching sight of dark raven curls and a long black over coat. John stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and pushed out of the certain section of the building and out into a lobby.

There was Sherlock Holmes spread out across a soft shaggy orange couch, holding a leather bound journal or book. As John had let the door behind him lock back into place Sherlock looked up at him; his eyes sharp and bright as always. "John." He greeted nonchalantly.

"Where did you go?" John asked his hands shooting up in to the air in a frustrated gesture. He moved over to where Sherlock had placed himself and sat down by his feet.

"Here, obviously." He said without a smirk but a glint of humor in his eyes.

John hissed something under his breath but didn't press in to further discussion. His eyes trailed over to the book Sherlock had sitting in his lap and held down the urge to grab it up and take in it's contents, "What's that?"

"Nothing." Sherlock answered closing it and hastily shoved it into a inner coat pocket, "We should be finishing our tour now, it's going to rain soon." Before John could reply Sherlock shot to his feet and clasped his hand over John's, pulling him across the room. He quickly led his friend through double glass doors and out in to the now chilled air.

John stumbled behind Sherlock trying to wriggle his hand free from Sherlock's grip, "Unhand me!" He huffed. Sherlock snorted and let go of John's hand and stuff his own into his pockets. "Thank you." John murmured. His eyes rolled up towards the sky where dark and heavy clouds collected into a gray cluster. Sherlock had been right, it would most likely be raining soon and John did not fancy the idea of being drenched in precipitation on his way back to the dorm.

"Maybe it'd be a better idea to just skip the rest of looking around and just go back before we get rained on." John suggested tugging his sleeves over his hands.

"It's only water that has been evaporated up from various numbers of bodies of water in to the air and then condensed into a large collection of droplets then which fall to the Earth." Sherlock casually explained. John chuckled quietly with a slight shake of his head.

"Alright, well. One more stop. Let's go, you bloody git." John managed a smile despite Sherlock's strange and rash behavior.

x

"Are you sure this is the right building?" John questioned as he followed Sherlock inside.

"Of course it is." Sherlock scoffed, throwing off his coat on to one of the chair pushed off to the side. "It's the recreational section of the campus. Not all of the building is but over half is. They've got a swimming pool you know, along with a basketball court, and indoor football field. Much more than just that but those are the high points. Doesn't John Watson like to have fun?" Sherlock had slunk behind the small man and shimmied his fingers beneath John's jacket.

"What are you-?" Before John could finish Sherlock had stripped off John's coat and thrown it on top of his own causing John to blush furiously. "That was unnecessary!" He scolded under his breath, turning his face toward the floor to avoid Sherlock seeing his flushed face. John Watson never remember blushing this much in his whole entire life.

"Go have fun John. I'll be reading. Most things here are quite trivial." Sherlock said and settled down in to a chair next to their coats. He reached in to his jacket to pull out his leather book.

"Why did we come here if you were just going to send me on my way while you sat around fiddling with some strange book?" John crossed his arms, his face thankfully turning back to it's regular pale complexion.

"To wait out the rain. There was no way we were going to make it back to the dorms before it started to downpour. This was much closer." Sherlock answered and nearly right after heavy drops of water could be heard thundering down on the roof. John sighed, pressing a finger against his temple, and took a seat next to Sherlock.

"I'm tired." He murmured, "I wish you would've told me it was going to rain since you must have known this was all going to happen. I still have a few things to go through and sort out before tomorrow." His mouth seemed to clench around the word '_tomorrow'._ It was the day his classes and his life at University would start and it made John's stomach flip. He needed to go to one last building where he would be attending two of his classes and find the library where all of his studying tools would be located; but here Sherlock had dragged him to the complete other side of the campus to some recreational center that smelled of gym socks and alcohol.

"You're such a prat." John grumbled closing his eyes in attempt to think, "You better hope the rain clears out soon, or your going to end up with a bloody nose."

Sherlock frowned, "I never get bloody noses nor would you even be able to reach my face, due to your height, to punch me." As soon as he had uttered the last word of his statement John's knuckles had collided with Sherlock's prominent cheek bone. Sherlock's face tucked away in to his coat at recoil, his hands clutched his face and he let out a soft 'ow'.  
John blinked barely believing he'd just punched Sherlock Holmes in the face. "Oh God. I'm so sorry." He whispered staring at the teenager. Sherlock straightened up and laid his gaze upon John with full eyes, no expression, before he bursted out into laughter. John looked terrified and confused to a great extent.

Sherlock's chuckles softened, "I didn't think you'd actually try, and may I say, Mr. Watson, you are quite stronger than the common person would assume."

John himself blush slightly at the compliment, "Most people would probably be quite angry if someone were to have just punched them in the face."

"I did basically challenge to you, so to be fair I was only asking for it." He answer delicately. He shut his book and stuffed it in to the pockets of his dress pants and stood up, "Let's find something to do since you most likely will sit here and bother me."

"Do what? I don't do sports, or much of anything." John pursed his lips, "I just want to go back to our dorm and get everything ready."

"No. I'm not getting my coat wet unless absolutely necessary." Sherlock scoffed and once more pulled John on to his feet by his hand. He held on to John as he started down the narrow and dim hallways. John felt uncomfortable at Sherlock's hand wrapped around his own like it already had today. They were two guys who had just met and now they were holding hands and trailing down a darkened corridor.

"Do you have to hold my hand?" John complained in a low voice.

"Do you not want me to?" Sherlock shot back with a devious look in his eyes. John growled and snatched his hand away and folded his arms tightly against his chest. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and pressed through a small wooden door. It led to a small, still dimly lit, room with rich red carpets and shabby green walls. Several pool tables were scattered around the room along with a few cheap looking table tennis set ups. In the far corner there was an array of lush red couches with a forty-two inch flat screen propped up on the wall.

John noticed only three students loitering in the room. One guy was stretched out on the couch spinning a ping-pong paddle in his hand with a bored expression. The other two were girls who huddled closely on the floor in front of one of the chairs watching the London news.

They all stopped what they were doing to cast their eyes over the two students who had just arrived, still lingering in the doorway. Sherlock looked at all of them with a small grimace while John pushed a polite smile on to his face. Sherlock ushered him forward in to the room averting his gaze away from the other people occupying the room.

"One of the smaller and less crowded rooms." Sherlock murmured as he made his way over to the pool table. He pressed his hands against the green fabric of the table and raised an eyebrow at John, "Game?"

"I don't know how to play." John shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"It's quite simple, really." Sherlock insisted, sliding a cue stick from the wooden compartment hung on the wall, "I can always spare some time to teach you."

John shrugged uneasily but sauntered over to pull out his own cue; only to hold it awkwardly in his arms. Sherlock smirked and set his cue against the table and took the instrument away from John only to place it back in to his grasp in the correct fashion. Sherlock quickly grabbed the rack, tossing it carelessly on to the table, and began to round up billiard balls and carefully set the rack over them forming them into a triangle.

"Do you play billiards often then?" John asked as Sherlock finished setting up the table.

"Everyone once in a while." He grinned at the memory of his several nights spent as a young boy playing his brother, sometimes even his father, at billiards and winning with his exceeding precision. "We had our own table, but the older I got the less I used it. A childhood phase, I suppose."

"Hmm." John's mind went off in to a train of thought; wondering who exactly was 'we'. Of course John knew it was Sherlock's family but he wondered about Sherlock's possible siblings or cousins or any sort of relatives. He wondered if they were like him, if so he couldn't imagine living in such a household containing so many people with the same air of arrogance and bizarre behaviors.

"One brother." Sherlock interrupted John's thoughts.

"Excuse me?" John blinked. _Did he just read my mind or did I ask a question out loud?_

"I have one brother. A mother and a father of course. No one else really besides my deceased grandmother." Sherlock said in a bored tone, "It was quite obvious you were wondering about my relatives."

John's face contorted with disbelief, "How do you even..."

"Let's save that for another day, John. Now," Sherlock picked up the cue ball in his finger tips and spun it, "Game on."

x

Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh as John hopelessly prodded at the pool table with his cue stick trying to hit his target. So far he'd only been deducted points for hitting the cue ball in to the pockets whilst Sherlock had hit in four; in which he would actually had won by then but he was purposely going easy on John in a subconscious attempt to make the older boy to feel better about himself.

Sherlock stormed around the table over to where John stood clutching the cue stick hoping his embarrassment at his measly attempts wasn't too obvious. Sherlock placed himself behind John, grabbing both of his elbows, and moved their arms in to a comfortable position with the cue stick. "Like this." He murmured in to John's ear, which was quite close to his lips.

John's stomach dropped as he felt Sherlock's body pressed up against his back, "I've got it." He whispered.

"Relax, John." Sherlock hissed, moving his arms in to a more easy position with John's. "Keep like this. Okay."

John allowed himself to relax a bit in to Sherlock's hold while fighting to keep focus on the white ball lying in the middle of the pool table, "Okay." He breathed and pulled his arms back ready to release them and hit his first ball in to a pocket, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Wait. Patience. It is key, I had to learn that, had to drill it in to my mind." Sherlock scolded and carefully let go of John's arms and moved his hands on to the cue stick, "I'm going to hit the ball but you need to pay attention to the amount of force I'm using for this certain position and situation and keep your hands on so you can feel the amount of force. It's all simple science, force in motion." Sherlock's minty breath was nipping at John's neck causing shivers to shoot down his spine. John grit his teeth; why did this guy have such an effect on him? It was _absurd_.

"John, why are you so tense?" Sherlock whispered, his lips nearly touching the flesh on the back of John's neck. The poor kid felt as if he were going to implode and vaporize in to thin air.

_Was Sherlock purposefully trying to do this?_

"I'm just tired, Sherlock." John said with a convincing yawn.

"Just this one shot then we can go home." Sherlock urged him on.

_Home._

It was a strange word for their dorm but it left John with a good warmth in his chest. A home away from home.

"Okay." John sighed and forced himself to relax. He gripped the cue stick tighter in his hands, "Okay, shoot."

At John's command Sherlock pulled back the cue stick slowly but surely and quickly and precisely pushed it back forward in to the cue ball which flew forward straight in to the side of the table. It bounced against side and right against an unsuspecting solid red ball which was sent hurling in to the far off pocket. John stared at the now full pocket for a few moments with a smile.

"That was really good." John complimented.

"Weren't all of my others then?" Sherlock scoffed falsely, concealing his smirk.

"Well yeah, but that was bloody brilliant. . ." John trailed off as he started to realize, "You were going easy on me weren't you?" His arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't got offended! Isn't that a polite thing?" Sherlock frowned.

"Well, no! You still beat me pretty bad." John sighed and hung up his cue stick, "Guess I'll have to spend all my free time here practicing so I can at least compete with you on the same level." He chuckled softly.

"Just remember to relax. You're quite stiff and tense. I can't complain because I assure you my regular personality is quite likewise but when you're playing billiards your body needs to be in a different state." Sherlock advised. John nodded and kindly took Sherlock's cue stick and hung it up for him. John stuffed his hands in to his jeans pockets and followed after Sherlock who was already leaving the room.

He took a last glance at the student on the couches to see they had all left . . . how long had he and Sherlock been there?

John pressed out in to the lobby and made his way over to where his coat was sprawled across the chairs. He quickly slipped it over his arms and buttoned it up to the top latch. When his eyes caught sight of Sherlock the boy was grinning sort of in a evil way. "It's pouring."

John's whole body sagged with disappointment, "We're going to be stuck here forever dammit!"

"We can make it, John. Come on." He beckoned, pushing open the front door. John sighed and pulled his collar up to protect his neck and hurried forward out in to the rain. The cold droplets of rain sliced at his exposed skin and soaked through his clothes almost immediately. He felt a strong hand grip his upper arm and yank him backwards in to the building. "Hold on." Sherlock murmured.

John gave a questioning look at Sherlock as he pulled off his coat and pulled it over his head. "It's a water proof coat." He sighed, "Get under."

"Under?" John's voice came out as a squeak.

"Dammit John! I'm not going to snog you!" He growled and pulled the small man underneath his coat with him. He kept his hand on John's left shoulder and pushed them both back out side in the protection of Sherlock's coat. John tried with difficulty to keep his blush unseen from Sherlock's eyes. He was pressed tightly against his roommate underneath a large coat in the rain. What more could happen to make John's stomach do somersaults? He didn't want to admit to himself what this feeling was.

Neither did Sherlock.

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**Don't forget to review c; **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey! Been a while, sorry. I know. I'm on Thanksgiving break so I hope to rack up some time to write. This chapter was fun to write, snuggling is the best c: **

**If you have any suggestions for certain scenes you'd like to see in this story please suggest away! Now for the comment I received last chapter c:**

**xSommerRegen: Oh trust me that promise will soon be broken c; Don't you worry. **

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"We're almost there, keep up John!" Sherlock shouted over the loud thudding of rain and occasional rumble of thunder. John did all he could to hold on to Sherlock's arm and push himself forward over the slippery grass. He had nearly fallen three times now and he could guarantee if he fell he'd end up pulling Sherlock down with him and that wouldn't be such a pleasant occurrence. He could tell his roommate was getting frustrated with how slow he was being, soon enough he completely halted to a stop and threw his coat over John.

"What are you...," John began to question but Sherlock quickly scooped his rather small roommate up into his arms and started sprinting across the field of grass. John gasped as this happened, his arms flailed around wildly until he came to his senses and wrapped them tightly around Sherlock's neck. He bit back a wave of laughter as he thought about how this might look to someone passing by.

The rain droplets only seemed to get heavier and pelt down even harder as they continued. The thunder roared even louder and more frequently as well as the addition of lightning flashing across the darkened skies.

Without realizing it John had pressed his face in to the crook of Sherlock neck, with his eyes shut tightly. He'd never told anyone besides his mother of his phobia of thunderstorms and how he'd always climb under his covers hoping to be safe from any resulting dangers. Sherlock continued across the slick surface keeping a firm but gentle grip on John as he tried to push away the feeling he felt pressing in his stomach. The despicable feeling of emotion.

He had to admit he admired being able to touch John and have his comforting warmth close to himself but he didn't want to admire it. He wanted to despise any sort of feeling of sentiment or caring; but this small fragile yet strong human being seemed so . . . _precious_. So precious and beautiful . . .

"Sherlock? Something wrong?" John's voice snapped Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"Oh. No. Sorry." He mumbled, avoiding the man's gaze. He hadn't realized he'd completely stopped in his tracks right outside of the dorm buildings, he didn't even remember arriving at the dorm buildings. He slowly released John from his arms making sure he didn't slip when standing back up on the grass, "Let's, uh, get inside then. With a phobia of storms I wouldn't say you'd want to be out here too long."

"How did you. . . oh never mind." John huffed and pressed inside, holding the door open for Sherlock. John's eyes caught sight of Greg Lestrade sprawled across a couch next to some small framed mousey girl who's eyes nervously darted around. It was slightly alarming seeing a girl in the guys dorm room but he supposed it was allowed - or maybe it wasn't; it didn't matter. "Hello." He greeted, flinching at the thunder.

The girl looked frightened but composed herself and replied politely, "Hello."

"Who's this, Greg?" John questioned stepping forward. He was aware that Sherlock was now hovering behind him closely; obviously deducting the couple.

"Oh, sorry." He smiled and threw an arm around the girl, "This is my friend, Molly. Molly this is John and er, Sherlock is it?"

Sherlock didn't verbally answer but made a soft grunt. John noticed Molly's eyes jerking towards the mysterious boy standing behind him. Her whole face melted into a look of awe and amazement. "Sherlock!" She exclaimed in surprise.

"Molly Hooper." He said impassively. "It's been a while."

"You remember me?" Her voice had diminished into a squeak, she was obviously head-over-heels for Sherlock and immensely intimidated by him.

"I remember everyone from grade school. Unfortunately so." He answered, "John we best get upstairs and get ready for bed since classes start tomorrow."

John nodded rather shyly, "Goodnight you two." He smiled before following Sherlock up the stairs to their floor. He caught up to Sherlock before he unlocked their door, "So you know her?" He pressed at conversation.

"Obviously." He grumbled, pushing inside and flinging his soaking wet coat behind the door.

John crossed his arms over his chest and stepped in after his roommate, shutting the door after himself. Sherlock hadn't even bothered to switch on the lights leaving John to do it. The curly haired teenager climbed up on to his bed, crossed his legs, and pulled his laptop out from underneath the only pillow he had on the bed. He seemed slightly frustrated, in which John guessed because his luggage still hadn't arrived.

John found himself wandering over to the window peeking out from the blinds at the storm occurring right outside. His hands tightly grasped the window sill as the horrific sight of flashing lights and pounding rain obscured the preceding blue skies and rays of sun. He had to try hard to fight back the urge of diving under his covers and whimpering like a coward.

He didn't know why he was torturing himself by watching his nightmares happen right before his eyes. Thunder often reminded him of explosions or even sometimes gun shots and it always frightened him. When he was little his mother would hold him late at night and sing to him until he'd successfully fall asleep and she was able to tuck him away into bed.

x

At a particularly loud rumble of thunder that shook the walls of the very building John snapped shut the blinds and shot under his covers. His whole body started trembling, he started to lose his breath, feel choked up, and his whole head spun with a strong dizziness. He was a having another panic attack. He tried to breathe but something felt like it was weighing down on his chest.

"John? Are you alright?" Sherlock's deep voice called quietly across the room, who had retired from his computer and begun polishing his violin.

He couldn't answer because he had started hyperventilating, he clutched his sheets as he struggled to calm down but he couldn't. He'd always had panic attacks ever since his father had left for the army and within a few years he was diagnosed with a panic disorder. They mostly struck during storms or at night when he woke from a nightmare. He had thought he'd grown out of them since he hadn't had an attack for five years but now it was back.

"John? Can you hear me?" A voice sliced into his ears. John hadn't even noticed Sherlock getting up and pulling the covers off of him, "What's going on?" His roommates voice dripped undeniable concern.

He couldn't answer, he was still fighting for breath and the fear and anxiety only progressively worsened. He couldn't even move, he was completely and utterly petrified, "I . . ." He choked out, trying to keep the tears from falling, "Panic attack . . . " He huffed out. He shut his eyes feeling the warm drops of water now freely slipping down his face.

"John it's okay. It's okay I'm here." The teenager sounded afraid himself, not sure how to handle this situation. He carefully helped John into a sitting position, holding tightly onto his hand. "It's okay." He whispered, working his fingers through John's sandy locks of hair, "You're safe. I'm here." He repeated. "You're safe." He whispered, pressing John close to him.

John slowly slipped out of the attack and broke into a silent sob against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock wasn't sure what to do at first, he'd not been in any sort of situation of trying to comfort someone because he'd never cared about anyone, barely even his own family. This is the first time he ever felt it his duty to be there to hold someone and tell them it was going to alright and that he was there for them.

John held on to Sherlock in a tight grip, "I'm. . . sorry." He murmured.

"It's . . . it's okay." Sherlock assured him, rubbing small circles on his back. "Just try to calm down. It's all okay. The storm will pass eventually."

_"Sherlock it's okay. They are only nightmares."_

_"Mommy said to just go back to sleep but I can't, Mycroft."_

_"Come here. You can sleep with me tonight, okay?"_

Sherlock stared down at the fragile sandy-haired boy that he was practically holding in his arms. He was in a very vulnerable position right now and Sherlock felt the great urge to help and comfort John, he just didn't want to admit why.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John murmured, lifting his tear-stained face. His whole body tensed as another wave of thunder went through the Earth. Sherlock tightened his arms around his roommate.

"How about you try to go to sleep?" Sherlock offered but had a feeling John wouldn't have much luck with that; he nodded anyway and separated himself from Sherlock to stretch out on his bed. His whole frame was shaking from the aftermath of his panic attack. Sherlock got up, taking a moment to stretch out his arms, then leaned over to tuck the blanket over John. He found himself hovering dangerously close to his roommate's face. "Goodnight." He whispered.

John turned his head to face Sherlock, for a few moments Sherlock could see the darkness of fear flashing across his eyes but he soon masked it and forced a smile on to his face, "G'Night."

A strong and overwhelming feeling surged through Sherlock and he didn't even think as he leaned all the way in to press a chaste kiss to John's forehead, "Sleep well." He choked out. Before John could notice the furious blushing on Sherlock's face he stood up, spun around, and nearly leaped into his bed.

John couldn't stop the smile that curled on his lips.

_x_

The loud crack of thunder woke Sherlock from his slumber. He blinked a few times barely believing he managed to have fallen asleep. He let a small sigh escape his mouth as he sat up in his bed, goosebumps rising on his arms from the low temperature of the building. He glanced around the room and stopped at the sight of John huddled up on the corner of his bed, face pressed into his knees.

Sherlock ran a hand through his messy curls. "John?" He called out, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep. The small fragile looking boy lifted his head to look up at Sherlock. The flash of lightning from the window cast across John's face showing the fear creased across his face. His lips were trembling and his whole body was doing the same.

Sherlock immediately got up from his bed and crossed the room as if a natural instinct, and climbed up onto John's bed. "I'm fine." He whispered, "You don't need to comfort me."

"You're obviously not." Sherlock said and caught himself before he started rambling off all the indications that John was frightened and that he might just be on the verge of another panic attack, "Just . . . let me help you. That's what friends do, right?"

The corners of John's lips lifted slightly and he nodded. Sherlock offered a reassuring smile and wrapped his arms slightly reluctantly around his roommate. John leaned into his embrace and had nearly crawled into Sherlock's lap like a scared child. His arms wrapped around the slender man's middle and his head rested against his shoulder.

Sherlock slowly slid down on the bed and situated them into a more comfortable position. He lifted an arm and grabbed John's blanket tugging it over the both of them. John had nestled closely to Sherlock with his face tucked against his neck. His warm breath against the flesh of Sherlock's throat sent shivers down his spine. He tightened his arms around John protectively and admired the amazing feeling of having this human being curled up in his arms.

_Dammit! Sentiment!_

Sherlock had to face it. He had to face this emotion sometime because it would only chew him up more and more everyday. He had some sort of feeling for John, something more than just his normal tolerance. Sentiment, caring . . . _attraction_. He shut his eyes tightly in frustration, how could he have let him become attracted to someone, that was supposed to be impossible.

"John . . ." Sherlock whispered.

The person in his arms shifted slightly, "Hmm?"

_You're amazing, fantastic, adorable, memorizing, and I just want to hold you forever._ "Erm, I, you . . . you smell good." Mental punch. What the hell was that? 'You smell good'? What the hell was that?

John chuckled softly, "Not bad yourself." His lips brushed against Sherlock's neck as he turned his head into a more comfortable angle; this set Sherlock's nerves haywire. A soft moan escaped his lips and if John hadn't been too tired to notice Sherlock didn't even want to think what conversation might have been going on right now.

'_John Watson will be the death of me._' Sherlock thought feeling dread ball up in his stomach.

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**Make sure to leave a comment, they absolutely make my day and I make sure to respond to every single one in each chapter c:**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. I don't have that much time anymore. So these chapters will be update randomly. Bear with me please. Anyway response to the previous lovely comments:**

**RainyDays-and-DayDreams:**** Cuddles are very fun to write and read. Sorry that's there's no cuddling in this chapter but I promise you in the future there will be cuddles galore! Thanks for the review for this story and for my other one which I'm pretty sure you reviewed also c: **

**xSommerRegen:**** I like protective, cuddly Sherlock. I know it's not too much like him but I still like to have that part of himself in stories every once in a while. ****I kind of incorporated my own fear of storms into John. Just like I put my tendency of singing in the shower into Sherlock's character for this chapter c; Thanks for the review darling.**

**x**

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Sherlock woke up and moved his arms to stretch, but found them tucked underneath something. He groggily slid his eyes open to find his newly appointed roommate curled up in the safety of his arms. How had this even happened? He awkwardly shuffled around trying to untangle himself from John. He managed to escape and he inched carefully off the bed.

He had no idea why he had decided to snuggle with this boy, it was so clearly unlike him yet he'd had done it out of complete free will. He stood silently in the darkened room gazing at the small sleeping body before him. He bit his lip, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing he had done. The poor guy had been scared right? He comforted him like people should do, and John hadn't pushed him away and called him a 'freak' like most people did.

John Watson was much different than every other human being Sherlock had been around. Every since he was a child he'd been avoided and laughed at. The last time he remembered having anyone he could call a friend was back before schooling when his family had dinner with other families in which had children of similar age. That wasn't quite friendship then either, but now here was John who accepted to befriend him.

_It's only a matter of time before he figures out what I'm really like and abandons me,_ Sherlock thought. It was a mistake trying to make friends because he'd only end up crushed. He'd spent most of his life channeling out sentiment and emotion so that he could shield himself from the rest of the world and set priorities that would benefit him. Most people picked up on his eccentric and irritating ways as soon as he spit out his first words to them. Most of time it was because he blurted out his deductions about that person other times it's because he would roll his eyes at them and insist they were idiots.

Sherlock let a soft sigh escape his lips and he turned to go to the bathroom. He felt as though he hadn't slept very well, he never did, but it was better than his usual routine of skipping rest all together. He stepped onto the cool tile of the bathroom and shut the room behind him. He reached to the wall to flip on the lights. The brightness caused him to squint and groan inwardly. He blinked slowly adjusting his eyes to the new tone of luminosity. He slunk over to sink to lean over it and glare at his appearance in the small mirror that hung above it.

He had small bags under his eyes along with dark circles. His alabaster skin was dull and slightly blotched with redness from sleep. He rubbed his hands over his face roughly trying to allow himself to wake up more. He turned on the faucet with his elbow and cupped his hands underneath to pool up water. He splashed it in to his face then afterwards dabbed a small floral towel over his face.

He peeled his lips back to observe his teeth, in which were moderately white, and grumbled about not having his luggage yet therefore no toothbrush. He hadn't checked the time but he conjectured that it was around six or seven in the morning. His first class wasn't until eight thirty. He had some time to kill, which the first thing to do would be to take a shower.

His eyes swept over the small rectangular shower in the corner of the small bathroom. Sherlock quickly made sure to lock both of the doors and began to strip out of his t-shirt, striped pajama bottoms, and pants. A slight shiver went through his body as the coolness of the room bit at his exposed skin. He kicked his clothes into the far corner of the bathroom before turning on the water.

He stood a few moments before the water adapted to an appropriate temperature. As he stepped in he grimaced at the lack of pressure from the shower head. He shut the glass door of the shower and stood there in the lukewarm downpour alone with his thoughts. He had Psych first, which he wasn't terribly excited for, it was only a semester class that would be replaced by some sort of Biology course afterwards.

He had memorized the map of the college easily enough and knew that it would take around fifteen minutes to walk from his dorm to building four where his class would be taking place.

About an hour and a half after Psych he had Foreign Language, which would include the learning of Mandarin, Arabic, and Latin. Sherlock already had an expansive knowledge on all three of them so he wouldn't even need to pay attention in that certain class.

He dipped his head forward slightly so that the water hit his curls. He closed his eyes so the water didn't drip into his eyes. He ran his hands through his hair trying to comb out tangles with his fingers. He had a few knots from tossing and turning at night in attempts to sleep. He slicked his hair back and luckily found that someone had put a travel-sized shampoo bottle on the small metal shelf inside the shower.

It was scented 'Rose Petals' which caused a smirk to cross Sherlock's face. It obviously wasn't John's by the way the contents had slightly spilled over the sides and the overall bottle hadn't been taken care of. The scent wasn't one any ordinary guy would pick up at the drug store for himself. It could be his girlfriend's but there weren't any long hairs caught in the cap nor plastered to the side like expected.

Gay.

It was the most obvious conclusion but he hadn't seen the guy next door to judge that completely. It was only a shot in the dark but Sherlock had intentions on investigating it further out of his own bored curiosity. If he was indeed attracted to men and used 'Rose Petal' shampoo than his sexual orientation more than likely would be quite blatant to the eye.

Nearly forgetting about being in the shower because of his thought process Sherlock quickly uncapped the bottle and squeezed out a small dollop onto his palm. He didn't care about scents because others opinions about him were unimportant in his mind. He simply didn't care what people thought of him. He did however care about feeling clean and comfortable so he worked the shampoo into his tight curls and onto his scalp.

It was a pleasant scent, rose petals, it just wasn't a normal one for men to have. Sherlock shrugged not at all blaming the man for appreciating this certain smell. He closed the bottle and set it back up on the shelf exactly how it was before so he wouldn't have complaining from his neighbors about him using their things.

He turned around and tipped his head back to wash out the shampoo. As he did so he subconsciously began to sing a low tone.

"_In my time of dying, want nobody to mourn, all I want you to do is take my body home. Well, well, well, so I can die easy._" His deep baritone voice carried out through the bathroom and slipped into both rooms bordering.

x

John opened his eyes which were blurry with sleep. He rubbed them and his ears caught sound of a low melody. It wasn't that of a violin but a deep voice like sweet rich velvet. John sat up in bed and discarded his blanket to the side and slipped down onto his feet. Someone was singing, very beautifully singing. The lyrics he heard were familiar.

"_I see the smiling faces. __I know I must have left some traces, a__nd I see them in the streets, a__nd I see them in the field, and__ I hear them shouting under my feet, a__nd I know it's got to be real._"

_Was Sherlock singing?_

Oh God, he was. John found himself standing a few feet from the bathroom door listening with awe. The water was going and steam was rolling out from the bottom of the door so he figured that Sherlock decided to take a shower before going to classes.

John stood there for several minutes until Sherlock's singing trailed off and the water was cut off. He heard a few steps and thud on the wall as if he'd almost slipped but caught himself. "Shit." Sherlock's voice grumbled.

John hesitantly approached the door and knocked lightly, "You okay in there?" He called out in a light tone.

There was silence for a few moments before the man on the other side of the door replied, "Yes, yes. I just..." He sighed, "I forgot a towel."

"Oh hold on. You can borrow one of mine." John answered politely, turning to go dig out his bag. He pulled out a brand new fluffy white towel and tucked it under his arm before returning to the door. "Just open the door a bit so I slip it into you, okay?" John called.

"Okay."

The door open slowly only to a small extent and a pale and slender hand reached out from behind. John handed Sherlock the towel and he muttered his thanks before closing the door.

John stood there for a few seconds before returning to his bed. He sat on up on it and let out a yawn. His eyes flicked over to his alarm clock which was marked 7:49 a.m. His first class was at nine so he was relieved to have a good amount of time to get ready before he had to leave. He thought about getting ready then using any spare time to set up his television and Xbox.

He stretched out his legs and arms before getting back up to look through his dresser for something to wear. He decided on a dark green jumper and jeans. He quickly got out of his pajamas and into his clothes for the day before Sherlock walked out. He noticed a folded bag hanging on the back of the door which he guessed to be for laundry.

He carried his dirty pajamas over to stuff them into the large canvas bag. He went ahead and threw Sherlock's worn clothes in there as well and noted mentally to make sure to do their laundry later that day when he got back from classes.

A few minutes later Sherlock strode in to the room with John's white towel wrapped around his waist. He walked over to his bed and bent over to grab his bag of clothes that he'd brought with him. John found himself gazing at Sherlock's bare torso a bit too long and quickly averted his gaze over to kitchen area. "What time are you leaving?" He asked casually, opening the mini fridge.

"Around eight." He answered, tugging on pants and a pair of dark jeans.

John was surprised to find a box of frozen waffles in the fridge, "Have time for breakfast?" John offered, pulled out the box.

"No. Not hungry." Sherlock murmured, pulling on a dark blue button up shirt.

John sighed but didn't fight it. He opened the cardboard box and opened the overhead cabinets in search for some plates. It looked as thought the college had so kindly given them eight or ten paper plates and plastic utensils to start with. He grabbed a plate and put a couple of waffles onto it and stuck it in the small microwave next to the sink.

"Didn't know you were a Led Zeppelin fan." John said with a tint of humor to his voice.

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he felt his cheeks flush pink, "Oh." He murmured feeling uncomfortably embarrassed.

John punched in the time for his waffles on the microwave and turned to face Sherlock. He couldn't help the smirk that splayed across his face as he noticed Sherlock blushing, "You're a very beautiful singer." He spoke gently.

"Erm, thanks." Sherlock muttered and turned his back to him as his cheeks turned a deep shade of red. Why was he getting like this? Maybe because no on had ever said nice things like that to him. It was so unexpected and had honestly caught the curly haired boy off guard.

"I mean it, Sherlock." John said.

Sherlock remained silent as he emptied the contents of his bag onto his bed and replaced it with a pen, notebook, and his laptop. He zipped it up and lugged it over his shoulder. His eyes darted to John's alarm clock to read the time, it was 8:03 a.m. He quickly grabbed his only pair of shoes, blue high top converse, and put them on. "I should get going so I don't be late. Goodbye, John."

"Bye." John smiled and his roommate pulled open the door and left their room.

John leaned his back against the counter and found his gaze lingering on the door almost hoping that Sherlock would walk right back in. John shook his head to rid the thought and focused back on the beeping microwave and pulled out his waffles. There was no syrup or butter so he just settled into his desk chair and ate them plain.

In the middle of his rubbish breakfast a loud song blared from the small pile of things on Sherlock's bed. The tune John recognized as 'Moonlight Sonata'. John stuffed the last bit of waffle into his mouth and walked over to find Sherlock's phone ringing with a call from 'Mycroft Holmes'. Father? Brother?

He felt slightly intrusive but answered it, "Hello?"

"Who is this?" A voice asked.

"Hi, I'm sorry, I'm John. Sherlock's roommate. He must have left his phone here. He already left for his classes." John explained.

"Ah? Yes. John Watson. Hello. I'm Mycroft, Sherlock's brother. I was calling to let him know that he luggage should be there sometime this morning." The man spoke with a smooth and sophisticated tone.

He knew his name? John assumed that the Holmes' family must be one strange lot. "Well alright. If I see him I'll let him know. Uh, bye."

"Goodbye, John."

John hung up feeling uneasy; wondering how it was possible for someone to be stranger than Sherlock Holmes but his brother had just achieved that. He set Sherlock's phone on his desk next to the test tubes and beakers where it would be more visible. John decided to write a note to him in case he would decide to stop back by the dorm before going to his next class.

John grabbed a sheet of paper from his notebook and wrote, '_Your brother called. Luggage will arrive this morning. Hope your day is going well. -John_' then set it by his phone. He then went back to throw away his paper plate and plastic utensils - making another mental note to go out buy some actual plates and silverware.

He had theater first. He wasn't at all the type to be in a class like that but he had randomly selected unsure what he really should take. He tried to find something to lead him in to a medical role but he never set time aside to perfect his scheduling.

He pulled out his ruddy pair of sneakers and pulled them on before finding the bag he had brought to carry around campus for classes. It was a pale gray with a single compartment a small pocket in the front. He stuffed his own laptop inside and a few notebooks, pens, pencils, and his glasses case just in case.

He zipped up his bag and left it sitting on his bed so he could go brush his teeth and comb out his hair. It only took a few minutes and when he finished in the bathroom he grabbed Sherlock's pajamas from the corner and locked the door behind him. He stuffed Sherlock's stuff into the canvas bag on the door then grabbed his own bag and slung it over one shoulder.

His eyes flicked to his clock reading it at already twenty minutes until nine. Still not too confident in his knowledge of the campus he grabbed his map and mobile stuffing them into his pocket, and left the dorm for his first class. "Here we go." He whispered, locking 221b before going down the hallway to the staircase.

x

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**A/N: A review would be appreciated. Any suggestions are nice. If you were wondering; the song Sherlock was singing in the shower was 'In My Time of Dying' by Led Zeppelin. I've always imagine Sherlock to be the type of person to sing in the shower and have a very nice voice c: Anyway. Sorry there wasn't really any fluff in this chapter.  
**

**This story will end at the end of their first year of college so it'll be pretty long. You'll see why I'm ending it there when we get there. Can't tell you because, in the words of River Song, spoilers. Depending on how this story goes though, I might make a sequel.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So yes I had lots of free time yesterday and this morning so I already wrote up the next chapter. I was in the mood so it worked out lovely c: Hope you enjoy this new installment of 'Roommates'! Response to the comment that was left yesterday:**

**xSommerRegen:**** I also have a great love for Mr. Cumberbatch's voice c; I assumed he'd have quite a nice baritone singing voice. I put some fluff in the end of this and there'll be more next chapter, (which I might possibly finish tonight :D) Enjoy!  
**

**Cheers lovelies.**

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As John slipped down the steps and out into the lobby of the dorm building he once more saw Greg Lestrade and the girl from last night; Molly. "Hello, Greg." John greeted, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Another boy came into view settled on a small chair. He was tall and thin but round in the face. Thick brimmed glasses sat on his nose.

"John, good morning. You got class already, mate?" Greg asked.

"Yeah. I like to get them out of the way so I have more time at the end of the day." He explained, glancing once more at the other guy who hadn't acknowledged him. 'Mike' was stitched on his book bag that sat at his feet.

"Ah. Well see you later then." Greg nodded.

"What class have you got?" Molly asked, arms situated over a lavender bag in her lap.

"Theater." He answered with a slight shyness.

"Have you really?" She got up to her feet and smiled, "Me too. Shall we walk there?" She offered sweetly.

"Yeah sure. I haven't got a good idea of where it is." John admitted.

"Didn't think you'd be the type that was into acting." Greg observed with a grin. Now that Molly had left her place he stretched out on the couch tiredly. "You two have fun." He winked, causing John to visibly blush.

"Good day." He nodded and followed after Molly out of the building.

The sun was beaming ahead brightly in the lightly painted blue sky - barely any clouds visible in the horizon. He allowed himself to look over the girl a few moments fully taking her in for the first time. She was actually quite cute with her soft brown braid, pink cheeks, and long eyelashes. The way she was dressed was simple yet pretty. She had on a mid-length black skirt, brown leggings, and a thin black blouse.

"So, John, you're into theater?" Molly asked, starting conversation as they trailed along the walkways.

"Heh, not really. I don't mind it at all but I'm not one to participate in it. I kind of just picked a bunch of random classes to take since my parents are forcing me to do at least one year of college before I join the military." He explained, falling into step with her.

She nodded, understanding. "I've always like theater. Musicals, and plays. Never been brave enough to be in it though. Too shy." A small smile stayed on her lips as she spoke. "Finally pushed forward this year and joined since I'm in college now." She paused, "I was surprised to see Sherlock here. He was a grade below me last year. Though he is quite smart so it's not _that _surprising."

"He's something else." John chuckled.

"Yeah. He didn't really have any friends in school. I tried to talk to him sometimes but I always found him really intimidating so it wasn't an often occurrence." She admitted.

"He's not a bad guy." John shrugged, "There's a lot to him I probably don't know though, but he's an okay roommate so far." Sherlock was much better than 'okay' but he didn't feel the need to tell Molly about their full out snuggle session the night before to reason his opinion.

Molly smiled and nodded. It was obvious to John that Molly had something for Sherlock the way she had looked at him last night and how she was talking about him in a gentle and respective manner. It made him wonder if Sherlock had ever been in any type of relationship before now, or if he was now - which he guessed to be unlikely.

They made small talk about their classes, their hobbies, and even the pleasant weather until they arrived inside building seven where theater was. Molly led him into the large auditorium where he already saw several people situated in seats in front of the stage. He didn't see any authoritative figure around yet so he took his time walking down to aisle to find a seat.

Molly bid him farewell and went off to join a small group of girls, one who he knew as Sarah.

He sat at the edge of the fourth row of seats, setting his back pack in the seat next to him. His eyes wandered around the large theater, smiling slightly at the size. He hadn't expected any less from a high-priced school but it still astounded him. He saw several posters lining the front walls next to the stage. There were posters for _Wicked, Romeo & Juliet, My Favorite Year, A Christmas Carol,_ and several other plays/musicals.

John pulled out his notebook and writing utensil setting them on his lap, and leaned back in the comfortable chair - pencil in hand.

x

Sherlock sat near the front of the lecture hall, steadying his laptop on the small slab of wood that swung over the arm rest of the chair. His eyes gazed lazily over the power point that his professor was going through along with mindless babbling that made enough sense that he didn't feel the need to take down notes.

His professor was currently rambling about the bipolar disorder. Sherlock sighed and decided to start to type of a few notes so he felt he'd accomplished something. His fingers gracefully moved over the keys of his laptop as he began notes, '_Bipolar Disorder: Symptoms include mood swings, difficulty in job, schooling, or relationships, elevated mood, irritability, hypomania, and depression. Three types of disorder are; Bipolar I, Bipolar II, and Cyclothymic disorder. Sidenote: The exact symptoms of bipolar disorder vary from person to person. Depression is more problematic in some people, manic symptoms are more concern in others.'_

Sherlock knew most of this from dealing with his grandmother who had been diagnosed with Bipolar II at sixty-three. He often drove her to the psych ward when she came over to the family's manor in a panic, speaking at a rapid pace and threatening to kill herself. He was the only one that seemed to ever be home so he would always try to calm her down and get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.

Sherlock winced at the memory and found himself distracted by the thoughts long enough to skip out on two power point slides and a lecture about 'Psychosis'. He glided his fingers over his laptop in attempt to copy down the words on the power point that were about that of delusions and hallucinations.

Sherlock only took the class to have a better understanding of the human brain. Disorders and thinking patterns were important for him to learn if he wanted to press for a job at Scotland Yard, having this class on his resume would win him out over some other bloke for the hire. His other job choice wasn't as specific but he had an objective of becoming a chemist or botanist. His family thought such a position boring compared to their high ranking government occupations but Sherlock didn't heed their criticism.

"Treatments and diagnosis. First, when someone with suspected bipolar or cyclothymic disorder is to be tested they usually start with a physical examination. This is the simple task of measuring your height and weight along with your vital signs; heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature. Secondly the patient will be given a psychological evaluation where the doctor will talk about feelings and thoughts along with a self-assessment. After that there's the step we call mood-charting..."

Sherlock slowly channeled out his professor's words and set his laptop to audio record instead so he could think properly without worrying about missing the lecture. His eyes slid over his professor to deduce that he was a smoker, drug user - cocaine most likely, and was cheating on his wife with a woman at the university.

Though he wasn't too close to the tall, sallow-faced man he could see the nicotine stains on his finger nails. His teeth were also yellowing from his smoking habit. On his forearm, which was exposed since the sleeves to his tweed coat were rolled up due to the stuffy building, there was a band-aid a few inches below his wrist. It wasn't a cut or scrape but it was hiding something. There were ghosts of marks running up his arm that no normal person would notice without looking closely. Puncture marks from a needle. He recently took a hit by the look of his dilated pupils; he hid the mark in case of suspicion.

Then there was his affair. There was a very prominent line where his wedding band would be. It is almost always worn therefore it's not a divorce. His finger is slightly red with irritation from working off the ring hastily in the morning right before he left for work without his wife knowing. He's not wearing it now yet the line is visible enough for it to seem that he wears it most of the time so it would make most sense that the woman he is having an affair with works here.

Boring.

Sherlock sighed and leaned back in his seat to read the new slide that was up on the screen. It was titled 'Criteria for a manic episode'. Sherlock grumbled under his breath and forced himself to type down another set of notes.

All so boring.

x

"Calculus next." John groaned, miserably drawing his map up into his hands.

"Good luck." Molly smiled giving a reassuring touch to his arm, "I'll see you later?"

"Sure." John managed a smile before heading off the opposite direction from her to building eight. _I wonder how Sherlock is doing, _John thought.

x

After Sherlock slipped away from his Foreign Language class he decided to trek back to his dorm to take a few minutes in peace. He had a good half an hour before he had to report to Philosophy. He stuff his hands into the painfully small pockets of his jeans and grimaced at the cooling air. Despite the bright ray of sunshine settling across the land it was still chilly enough to be in need of a coat.

It didn't take him long to navigate himself to the dorm building and press inside. The lobby was bare; which was logical because it had reached the time of day where most everybody had classes and if they didn't they most likely were still tucked away in bed. Sherlock readjusted his bag on his shoulder and steered around the small gathering of furniture to get to the stair case. He quickly climbed up - not caring if his rather obnoxious footsteps woke anyone up.

It was very pleasant to have the building so quiet, but sometimes complete and utter silence seemed wrong. This was one of the times Sherlock accepted it gratefully. He approached 221b and fished in his back trouser pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. He was welcomed by a fresh scent of pine and the slightest hint of rose petals. The shower was going. Sherlock smirked. 'So he awakes.' He grinned to himself.

He didn't feel like meeting the person but only getting a quick glance at him to prove his hypothesis. He shrugged and shut the door quietly behind him. Before he went to search for his coat he noticed his phone on his desk with a note setting beside it. The lettering was small and tightly pressed together but neat and legible. His eyes scanned over it and he didn't realize he'd smiled when he saw John's name.

His finger tips lightly skimmed over the words as he re read them. Luggage. He scanned the room once more and noticed three black suit cases piled into the corner of his bed. He didn't question how they had gotten there, to him it was quite obvious. Mycroft had actually personally delivered his things, how heart melting.

He rolled his eyes and happily went through his bags to make sure everything he needed was contained in the few bags. To his delight nothing had been discarded all his necessities had been included in his luggage. Mycroft had even brought a large gray bag with a small set of china plates and tea cups. There was also a set of expensive silverware packed beneath the plates. Sherlock rolled his eyes at how his brother strove to be over the top about everything.

Knowing his brother all too well, Sherlock spun around and locked his eyes on the kitchenette. He wasn't at all surprised to see three grocery bags sitting on the counter overfilled with packaged and processed foods. Sherlock crossed his arms and ambled over to the bag to peek inside at what his brother had decided to buy him and John. This only gave John an advantage to forcing Sherlock to eat.

Sherlock debated on whether or not he would get rid of it all out of anger towards Mycroft but decided against it since it would be very childish of him. With an irritated snort Sherlock settled on a soft brown hoodie that was packed in with his clothes instead of his thick black overcoat. He pulled it on over his curls and grabbed his bag.

He checked the time, 10:43. It was a rather long walk to Philosophy which was in building seven so he slipped the strap of his bag over his shoulder and made for the door. Hating to admit why he did it he grabbed John's note before leaving and locking the door behind him. As he stumbled down the stairs he looked over the words delicately. The penmanship had Sherlock absorbed until he reached the exit to of the building. He swiftly folded the note and stuffed it in his hoodie pocket.

x

After Sherlock's Philosophy class it was around time to eat lunch. He hadn't planned on actually eating but he decided to stop by the mess hall to grab a coffee. He scolded himself mentally for not digging out his digital watch from his luggage before leaving the dorm. He slipped inside after a small group of upper-classmen. He quickened his pace to veer around their small huddle and strode in to the large center of fast food kiosks and tables.

He stood for a few moments searching for a Starbucks. He didn't really care for their products but there weren't any other places that supported very good beverages. He spotted it and felt a wave of relief wash over him as there was no line that he'd have to suffer in. He stepped up to the counter briskly and waited for someone to ask what he wanted to order.

A short perky blonde approached him from behind the counter, "Hello sir! What can I get for you today?" She asked.

"Just a black coffee. Two sugars." He listed monotonously.

She nodded not daring to make conversation based off his bored and impassive nature. She offered a small smile before scampering off to make his drink. He let out an annoyed sigh and leaned against the counter gazing around at the messy atmosphere of straw wrappers and spilled coffee beans by the grounder. He had thought about grabbing a job here so he could support himself financially without the irritating help from his family. He didn't want to deal with annoying average people more than he had to but it'd be worth it to finally break off from his snobby relatives.

As he saw the woman return he pulled out a fiver and slapped it onto the counter. "Keep the change." He grumbled and took his coffee with a forced smile. He then spun around and went off towards the tables and chairs scattered about the open room. He took a seat at a table positioned against the wall away from everyone else that loitered around.

He pulled out a sheet of paper that he'd received from Foreign Language. It was criteria sheet for a paper he was to write by Friday on Latin pre-fixes. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Boring.

He read through the paper a few times out of boredom as he sipped at his coffee that was bitter and not sugared well enough.

Right as he got done reading through it a second time there was a thud as someone plopped down in the seat across from him. He growled in irritation and lifted his head, ready to throw an insult at the imbecile who decided to sit at his table but he stopped and his words were forced back down his throat when his eyes caught sight of his sandy-haired roommate. "John."

"Hey, Sherlock." He smiled warmly, tearing open a packaged muffin. "Figured you would've had a class at this time."

"No. Next class isn't until 1:45 in the afternoon." Sherlock mumbled before taking another sip of his coffee.

"Really?" John took a small bite of his muffin and spoke again, "Mine too. Economics?"

"Yes. I assume we have that class together then?" Sherlock guessed.

"Yeah! That's awesome." John grinned. Sherlock felt his own lips form into a smile at the thought of walking together with John to class and maybe even sitting next to him during the lecture so he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else.

"Indeed." Sherlock agreed.

"You're not eating?" John observed.

"Like I said, John, I don't eat when I'm not hungry." Sherlock muttered, burying his lips into his cup to finish off the last swig of his beverage, "I got coffee at least. Even though it's revolting."

"Here try some of this." John suggest, breaking a bit of his muffin and holding it in front of his roommate, "It's apple-cinnamon, very good."

Sherlock shook his head even though it didn't sound half bad to consume. John gave a mischievous grin and held Sherlock's chin and pulled open his jaw. Sherlock froze as John stuffed the bite of muffin into his mouth. "Chew." He ordered. Sherlock did as he was told not at all ignoring the fact that John's hand was still resting underneath his chin. He felt a shiver go down his spine as John's gaze was locked on his own.

The tension in the air between them could probably be cut like a cake.

Sherlock finally swallowed and smiled, "It was very good, thanks John." He said in a slightly nervous tone. Out of his peripheral vision he saw a few people staring at them with wide and curious eyes.

John smirked and rested his hands in his lap, "You want the rest? I've already eaten breakfast so you need it more than I do."

"How about we split it?" Sherlock offered.

"Whatever you want." John said, tearing the muffin in two, giving Sherlock the bigger half. "Cheers." He grinned, taking a big bite of the desert, crumbs spilling over his lips. A small giggle escaped Sherlock's mouth at the amusing sight and at the back of his mind he was thinking about how adorable John looked.

"You eat like a small child." Sherlock laughed. John let out a gasp and faked the look of hurt on his face before grabbing his half of the muffin and throwing it at him.

"Oi!" He growled and picked a small bit off of his and threw it John. They both started breaking out in to laughter, "You better not throw food at me in Economics." Sherlock spoke after their laughing died down.

"I promise not to. As long as you let me sit next to you." John negotiated.

"Deal." Sherlock said trying to hide his extreme delight at this.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey guys! So this is a rather long chapter. I got a bit caught up in it. In this chapter Sherlock is more emotional than he might actually ever be so sorry for not sticking too closely to his character but just a reminder as a teen I feel as if he is less harsh and emotionless. Also WARNING there is brief mention of child abuse. **

**Yes my pen-name has been changed. Why? *awkward laughing* My friend figured out my original user name. So . . .**

**I have semester exams next week so I most likely wont have time to write at all next week. So responses to reviews:**

**Guest: Well here is economics class and I hope I don't disappoint c;**

**OnceCutePug: Thank you! I try my best to get some good amounts of fluff into my stories because fluff is simply the best. Here's the update for you!**

**Alice Foxworth: Thank you much ma'am. I am also a humongous fan of cuddly and sleepy Sherlock and this story gives me a great opportunity to write him c:**

* * *

"What building is it? I forget." John asked, not wanting to have to pull out his map once more.

"Eight." Sherlock answered.

"Geez, my feet are killing me from walking all day. Would you mind carrying me again?" John joked.

"If I must." Sherlock said in a serious tone.

"Really?" John grinned.

"You're very light. It wouldn't be a problem." Sherlock shrugged. Secretly he would love to hold John the whole way to building six because having the man close brought a nice warmth in his body; but he'd never even admit this to himself.

"I wouldn't make you do that." John nudged Sherlock's arm.

"If you say so." Sherlock smiled. He adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder and continued down the sidewalk. "My brother brought us some house warming gifts along with my luggage."

"Oh?" John glanced over at him.

"Yeah. He's always got to be showing off how much money he has and how 'caring' he is." Sherlock grumbled, "It's all a bunch of rubbish - just an act."

"Wait. Isn't that something you'd be appreciative of? I mean hell, if my drunk ass sister ever had the courtesy of bringing me up some stuff for college I'd be shocked with pleasure." John said with slight disbelief.

"You don't know my brother, and I would never let you meet him. It was enough that you had to speak with him over the phone. I don't want to make your life dampened by such a person." Sherlock hissed, obviously riled up about his 'terrible' sibling.

"What did he do to make you so hateful about his existence?" John asked, frowning at the sudden flaming hatred in Sherlock's voice and eyes.

"That's a story for another day." Sherlock sighed, "Sorry."

For a brief moment John almost registered what looked like pain in his eyes and face. He grabbed Sherlock's hand without thinking and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to. It's nothing of my business." He spoke softly, keeping eye contact with him.

For a sweeping moment Sherlock's eyes faltered downward to John's lips but only for a split second before they returned to his gentle pale eyes, "Thank you, John." He said gratefully. There was an overwhelming desire to lean forward and let his hopes come true but Sherlock quickly stamped that want down and pressed a small smile on his lips.

"Anything for you, Sherlock." He said kindly and pulled him on ahead the sidewalk, still grasping his hand.

x

Their interlinked hands slowly unclasped as they stepped into building eight which was comfortably warm. John rubbed his hands together and took the lead, ahead Sherlock, down the hallway. He remembered the room number luckily and wanted to prove his memory wasn't completely useless.

"You sure you know where you are going, John?" Sherlock asked, slight amused at John's attempts to find their classroom.

"Yes, yes." John grumbled, peering around the corner of the hallway, then turning around, "Wrong way."

Sherlock had suppressed his laughter but his face was stretched out into a bemused smirk as he trailed softly behind his friend. He longed to take his hand in his once more and build up the courage to do so; he was about to reach his fingers out to gaze them over the flesh of John's hand but they had successfully arrived at their room so he quickly forgot his objective.

"Well done." Sherlock murmured, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

John chuckled and elbowed him in the stomach playfully, "Yeah, yeah. I'm directionally challenged. I know." John led them into the rather large lecture hall that harbored a good number of people. "Big crowd." John muttered as he searched for a comfortable row to sit in. As he found an empty row in the middle of the room he grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him into the small space between seats.

As Sherlock was being dragged past several seats he gradually slipped his fingers in between John's for his own satisfaction. John's hand's were soft and warm even with the small callouses on his palms. The touch sent warm sensations through his fingers and hand then throughout his whole body.  
John finally stopped and dropped into a seat, his bag flung to the ground beside him. Yet his hand remained intertwined with Sherlock's once they had both settled down into adjacent chairs.

John was watching a tall man striding across the front of the room with an apple laptop under his right arm. He guessed him to be the professor as he set his laptop on a small rickety wooden table in the center of the front. He pulled open the device and began fiddling with cords and plugs in order to connect his laptop to the projector that sat on a wheeled table by the front row of seats.

A long and wide screen had been pulled down for the projector's image to shine upon where the power point would be displayed during the teacher's rant. Sherlock sat trying to hide his anxious glances, waiting for John to break their hands but he didn't. He had sunk into his chair and leaned back with his legs outstretched before him.

Sherlock remained in a tense position trying not to stare at his hand interlinked with his roommate's that he may or may not have strong, (and irritating) feelings for. He tried to switch his mind on something else - he attempted to deduce the girl two rows ahead of them. All he could see was the obvious; short curly dark hair, weak posture, tanned skin, and new to the area based off of her being on her lonesome and her skin being too tan to be from around here.

It only occupied Sherlock's mind for a few seconds then he was stuck back with being painfully aware John had still not yet moved his hand. Was this some sort of sign? Or perhaps John honestly didn't think to pull his hand away? John probably hadn't even noticed nor was dwelling on it like Sherlock was. But he was.

John stared ahead trying not to gawk at his hand that he hadn't let go of and didn't want to let go of frankly. Sherlock's slim and delicate hand fit so nicely in his, theirs fingers laced together so evenly; it was a perfect fit. Although the unpredictable curly-haired man's hand was cold John didn't mind - there was still a warmth that spread from the touch.

_People are going to talk,_ John thought with a slight grimace. Though he didn't care all too much. He had honestly never been in a serious relationship before and the only one's he had been in were terrible and John ended up pushed away and alone. He'd given up for a good part of his life. Girls didn't want to deal with his deep emotional trauma. Sherlock had already practically held him in comfort when he'd woken up from a nightmare and when he had a panic attack.

_He would never think of me that way,_ John chided himself. Though the fact still remained; Sherlock hadn't let go of his hand. John had been pondering over the whole petty matter in such a depth that he hadn't noticed that the professor had started the class. John blinked and rolled his shoulders not feeling in any mood to sit through another lecture.

He'd had have to get used to it, he was in college.

He needed to take notes but he'd have to pull out his laptop or pencil and paper; that would require to release his grip from Sherlock's hand. Maybe he could just sit for this time, but that wouldn't be fair for either of them. They needed to actually learn something and get over this slightly awkward and uncomfortable situation. John wasn't sure if Sherlock was fretting about this as much as he was, but he doubted so since the man had a blank face that was staring up at the front of the room.

He was very calm and collected. Maybe he didn't even notice John was still clinging to his hand.

Sherlock became aware that John's body had tensed up while he was trying to pay attention to the power point that was agonizingly dull. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. He built up the courage and slowly started to rub soft circles on John's hand. He longed to reach up to his wrist to take his pulse. He was awfully curious as to if John actually mirrored his feelings.

The soft stimulation of Sherlock's thumb tracing over John's knuckle sent his nerves on high alert and he felt shivers trickle down his back. John fought to keep himself from blushing. Now he definitely couldn't take his hand away from Sherlock. He allowed himself to relax in his chair tried to avert his attention to where it should be. It was hard to considering he was sitting right by his roommate holding hands with him.

...

The whole class neither of them moved. Sherlock continued to trace gentle circles over John's soft skin and both of their palms became sweaty but they didn't mind but enjoyed the contact while it lasted. They didn't speak or even glance at each other. It slowly melted into a more comfortable and warm tension where both of their fears were soothed by each others company.

Once the professor concluded their lesson about Natural Resources both boys sat there a few moments unsure of what to do. Sherlock had found the lecture dull and even more so with the monotone voice of the professor. John hadn't even been paying attention, just staring blankly up at the front, all he'd taken in was _'Learning about Economics includes learning how to invest your time in a way that optimizes your energy and the energy of those with whom you share your life.' _

John was the first to move, carefully pulling his hand away. He wiped his palm against his jeans trying to rid the warm sweat beading up on his hand. Sherlock did similar, picking up his bag at the same time. He slung his bag over his shoulder and kindly picked up John's for him. John offered a warm and slightly nervous smile as he slipped it over his arm.

They slowly trailed down the small path to the long aisle where students were streaming up to get out of the room. As they merged into the crowd of students Sherlock took to walking a few steps ahead of John so he could properly think without John in his view. As they reached the large doors that had been pushed open Sherlock felt a small and warm hand slip into his. Alarmed, Sherlock whipped his head around to see John once more interlinking their hands; his eyes focused ahead of him.

Sherlock turned his head back around with a smile splaying across his lips. He gave a gentle and almost unnoticeable squeeze to John's hand causing the short sandy-haired boy to blush lightly - but, nonetheless, return the gesture and fall into step with his roommate.

Not many people paid attention to this display of obvious affection because no one had the interest to care. It wasn't at all uncommon, but one particular person was staring at the two's hands that had melted together. A frown of disappointment falling across her face, Sarah traced back to find some friends to walk with. John Watson was taken, she had been silly to think she might actually ever hit it off with him.

x

All the way back to the dorms Sherlock and John had kept their hands together linked tightly with the occasional stroke of a thumb over the knuckles of the others hand.

They said some things, normal conversational things. "It's warmed up a good bit." John had said at one time. Sherlock hummed in agreement commenting on how he was almost too warm under his hoodie. Neither of them had said a single thing about obvious advancement in their relationship; holding hands. They both knew that hand holding was not something 'just friends' did. They didn't dwell on it in their minds too long. It wasn't something they needed to discuss, not yet.

In an unspoken agreement they had let go of each others hands once they slipped inside the cooled dorm building. There was only one bloke lounging in the lobby, he didn't look familiar to John. Just some guy curled up on a chair with a history text book resting in his lap, a notebook and pen on the arm of the chair.

Sherlock however felt a smirk uncoil across his face as he saw bright blue underwear sticking up from the waistband of the man's jeans. The sleeves on his, rather tight, shirt were quite short. Not to forget the most important fact; the scent of rose petals. Sherlock let his mind roll off into a short phase of deduction before following after John.

He had a small amount of time to round up some supplies for his linear algebra class before he had to leave once more. Once his shut their door he started to rummage through his luggage, "Haven't you got a class after this too?" Sherlock asked, but already knew John's last class, Electrical Engineering, didn't start until Friday.

"Not yet. It doesn't start till a couple of days. How many classes have you got before your done for the day?" John questioned, settling down into his desk chair.

"Four classes." He murmured. He wasn't too excited for the extended time he had left to sit in an uncomfortable chair listening to adulterers, former prisoners, and lazy imbeciles speak for over thirty minutes. The only class Sherlock was exceptionally keen to attend was Chemistry so he figured he would make it through without too much suffering. He finished stuffing graphing paper and his expensive cased compass in his bag and threw it over his shoulder, "Well, bye, John. I'll see you tonight. I won't be back till about six."

"Do you want me to make dinner for you?" John asked, politely.

"John, I don't need-"

"Yes you do. So you might as well enjoy what you're eating. Ramen noodles or eggs and pasta?" John queried, a spark of humor in his eyes.

Sherlock let out a rather dramatic sight, leaning back against the door, and answered in an annoyed voice, "Just pasta will do, thanks. Tea too, if you don't mind. Two sugars. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Sherlock." John grinned, prying his sneakers off.

x

John had shed off his jumper for a more comfortable t-shirt. His eyes glided over the room to read the time at 5:20 p.m. In the time that Sherlock had been gone he had typed up and emailed his paper on '_Beauty and the Beast'_ for Theater and had successfully set up his TV and Xbox on his desk - getting in a satisfying game of zombies on _Kino Der Toten_.

He was now pulling things out to start up some pasta and eggs. An odd combination but a personal favorite for John. It was difficult to make much of quality food with his limited kitchen utilities. It cut back the preparation time but wasn't quite worth it.

He hadn't brought his kettle from home only his coffee pot. He made coffee for himself and Sherlock instead of tea hoping he wouldn't be mercilessly criticized for it.

By the time he was piling food onto two plates and pouring coffee into two mugs he'd brought from home Sherlock was on his way up the stairs to their room. He felt surprisingly exhausted after his first official day of college. He hadn't expected it to take such a toll on him, nor had he wanted it to. He was used to being able to stay up for long amounts of time in order to get a lot of things done - those including experiments and researching on his laptop.

He tried to straighten himself up a bit before entering the dorm so John wouldn't order him to bed since the man was already forcing him to eat supper. He opened the door to mostly pleasant smell of Fettuccine Alfredo. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how John had managed to cook up such a meal with his limited resources but he didn't feel like questioning it now.

John welcomed him with one of his very cute and warm smiles. "Hello, Sherlock." He greeted, stretching a plate towards him, "Finished just in time."

"Great." Sherlock grumbled sarcastically, setting his stuff under his desk. Before accepting the plate he stripped off his hoodie and threw it carelessly onto his bed. He took the plate with a forced smile and traipsed over to sit on _John's_ bed. John did the same, but leaning back against the wall as he chewed quietly at the not-half-bad Alfredo.

Sherlock took small bites, uninterested in consuming any food.

"So how were your classes?" John asked over a mouthful of pasta.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Hasn't your mother ever told you to not talk while you're eating?"

"Yes. I just have never listened." John replied, stuffing the last bite of food into his mouth.

Sherlock grinned. Poking a bit with his fork and setting it delicately into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking, "Not bad, Watson, but I would prefer fish fingers and custard."

"Oh sod off." John laughed, "I can pick some up this weekend."

x

The time was around ten at night and both John and Sherlock had remained on John's bed where John was trying to teach Sherlock how to play video games. "No, no. It's X. Press X to reload, Sherlock." John was chiding.

"I know, John!" He growled trying his best to not be killed by a hoard of moaning zombies. "What's that?!" He exclaimed, pointing in horror at the screen.

"Nova gas zombie. Yeah, they creep me out too." John chuckled lightly. "When you kill em' you have to get away quickly because they set off gas that will stun you."

"_Shit_!" Sherlock cursed when he didn't heed John's warning. John shot him a smug I-told-you-so look before taking over the controller to show Sherlock how to improve.

After several games of zombies the both of them were fairly tired. Sherlock didn't show it, suppressing his yawns and often getting up to pace and wake himself up when John took over the controller. Around midnight John had pulled a pillow close to the TV where Sherlock was sitting still trying to improve his gaming skills. He had curled up into somewhat of a ball sleepily watching the screen.

Sherlock became so indulged into the game he hadn't realized John's head had shifted onto his lap and that he was completely asleep. Sherlock carefully set the controller on the desk and ran a few fingers through the soft blond hair sprawled across his legs. He smiled to himself but knew it would be best to wake him up and get him into his pajamas and a more comfortable position for sleeping.

He gently shook his shoulder unsure what might cause a trigger in John's memory and jolt him awake in a shouting fit. "John." He murmured close to his ear. He brushed some of John's hair from his face as he spoke his name over and over hoping for him to wake.

"Mmm." Was John's half-asleep response, "Wha' Sher?"

"You should put on your night clothes before you sleep." Sherlock said in a quiet voice.

"No need." He mumbled, pulling his jumper off over his head and flinging it to the ground. Sherlock tried not to gape at John's now bare and rather muscular torso. He didn't bother with his trousers, only took off the belt so they wouldn't be too uncomfortable to sleep in. Sherlock took off his own clothes but replaced them with a comfortable pair of gray silk pajamas.

As Sherlock was pulling out his covers to make up his bed John let out a sigh and started tossing around in his bed. "Sherlock."

The curly haired man turned, "Yes, John?"

John's eyes were barely open but he still spoke mostly clearly, "Will you sleep in my bed? It's too cold." He asked shyly.

Sherlock hid his grin under his impassive mask and nodded, dragging in his soft thick comforter with him. John sluggishly scooted over in bed, making room for the curly haired sociopath.

Sherlock flopped down onto the bed, throwing the comforter over the both of them. John curled up in the warmth of the blanket and body heat from his roommate settled down next to him. They remained in a comfortable silence - the only noise coming from other rooms of people who remained awake. John eventually slipped into sleep as his breathing deepened and he started into a light snore.

Sherlock remained awake like he normally did in the late hours of night. He stared at the strands of golden hair illuminated by the moonlight in front of him. He longed to reach out and stroke the soft locks of sandy hair. Sherlock's urges and desires frankly scared him and made him recoil onto the edge of the bed. If John found out how much he had grew fond of him he would call him a freak and leave.

Leave like everyone else had.

The loneliness from his childhood lashed back from the recesses of his mind. Sitting in his room by a pile of books, peering out his window to see groups of children running around. Laughing. Smiling.

Sherlock would try to sneak out of his room and the large manor to go play but he'd always get caught. _"Sherlock Holmes! You get back to studying right this instance!"_ His tempered father would yell, grasping onto him to lead him back to his quarters. Several times he'd wake up and notice new bruises formed on his wrists and forearms.

His mother never stopped his father from harming him or restricting every opportunity of him being a bit normal. He eventually had been malleable enough to be shaped into an obedient and quiet child who spent his days sprawled across his bed with his nose in a chemistry book. He had built up a wall over the years becoming more and more void of emotion as he aged. He always lashed out at people or insulted them not wanting to become close to anyone. He couldn't be.

At least he thought he couldn't.

Sherlock slowly pressed his hand over his wrist, tracing his fingers over his skin in reminder of what used to always color his pale flesh. He felt oddly and uncomfortably vulnerable in this flooding of memories. He had tried to delete them from his mind but they always seemed to come back one way or another.

He had not even realized the tears collecting in his eyes ready to spill over down his cheeks like they hadn't in many years. He choked back a sob, pressing his face into his pillow. His heart began racing as he attempted to forget everything, to rebuild that barrier he'd put between him and everyone else. He didn't know why all of these emotions and painful events were attacking his mind all of a sudden. His thoughts blurred together and he couldn't think properly.

'_What's wrong with me?'_ Sherlock thought hopelessly.

There was a light touch on the small of his back, snapping him from every clouded thought. He turned his face to see John blinking tiredly at him. "Sh'lock. Wha's wrong?" He asked with a heavy drowsiness to his voice. Sherlock just shook his head gently, not trusting his voice. He wished John would just go back to sleep and think of this as only a dream. "Sherlock?" John lifted his hand to touch Sherlock's cheek. His thumb grazed over the tears that had streamed down his roommates face. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not." Sherlock answered, his deep voice cracking. He shut his eyes, face contorting in anger at himself. He took a deep breath, "Go back to sleep, John."

"No, Sherlock. You can tell me, please." He coaxed, voice undeniably tender. John's thumb continued to brush over Sherlock's skin softly. He had also pressed closer to his roommate, eyes locked on Sherlock's.

Sherlock felt nervous as his face was dangerously close to John's and he was afraid of what he might do with his wall completely crumbled to dust; emotions able to fully emerge for the first time in _many _years.

He sat up abruptly and dropped his face into his hands. John pulled himself up carefully placing a hand on Sherlock's arm, "Please trust me, Sherlock."

Sherlock lifted his face to stare into the darkened eyes of John's, "I can't trust anyone." He whispered coldly.

"You can trust me." John murmured, "You don't have to though. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel forced into anything."

John shifted back down awkwardly unsure of what else there was that he could say. He wanted to comfort Sherlock just like he had him but he didn't know what he could do to make him feel better. It honestly scared him that such a guarded and mostly emotionless person was lying in bed with tears running down his face.

Sherlock sat there for a few moments trying to pull himself back together. It seemed impossible even the concept of 'trust'.

He pulled himself back down underneath the covers. He hesitantly pressed himself against John and wrapped his arms around him; dipping his face into the crook of John's neck - finding a good amount of comfort in this. Physical contact. "John, I'm sorry. There's just things I try not to think about and I just can't relive those and tell anyone." He whispered into his ear.

John gradually turned around to face Sherlock. John snaked his hands up and around his neck, "It's okay, Sherlock. I wouldn't want you to have to go through that." He murmured and rested his head against Sherlock's chest. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, John." Sherlock whispered trying to push down the overwhelming warmth rising in his chest. He wasn't an expert on human relationships but he didn't think the fact that he and John were entangled together in bed late at night was a normal thing 'friends' did; but that wasn't something he wanted to confront rather just let it happen without question.

Sherlock tilted his head forward and pressed a faint kiss to the top of John's head.


	9. Christmas Part One

**A/N: Merry Belated Christmas! I so wanted to upload this ON Christmas or at least before Christmas but it got hectic and I had so many places to be. But good news is I aced all my exams! Hurray! This particular chapter is going to be split into two or three parts. **

**Everyone excited for Series Three?! I'm not, know why? I have to wait till the 19th to watch it thanks to living in America. Phooey. Any who! Here's responses to the reviews:**

**Alice Foxworth: I'm glad you find this cute, I'm trying hard to make it an extra fluffy story since those types always lighten my mood!**

**KittyJeanLightwood: Yes, my fish fingers and custard thing just had to be in there since I'm such a Doctor Who geek. It honestly isn't a bad combination. Enjoy! c;**

* * *

Sherlock found himself waking up once again entangled with his roommate. This time he didn't feel as alarmed or regretful; not at all. He craned his neck around to check the time on John's handy-dandy alarm clock. It was only seven in the morning so he had some time to just relax before he had to worry about getting ready.

More time to just lie there holding John.

His small sandy-haired roommate had his face buried in Sherlock's neck and his arms still snugly wrapped around his companion's neck. Sherlock's left arm was slung over John's torso and hugged him tightly to his chest. His other arm had been trapped underneath his pillow. He slipped it out from underneath the pillow so he could run his fingers once more through those soft blonde strands of hair.

Sherlock took in the scent of his roommate which consisted of cologne and wintergreen candies. He didn't clear-headily make the decision to press his nose in to John's hair and sniff at him further like some curious dog. Before John could wake up to find his roommate with his nose buried into his soft locks, Sherlock untangled himself and got up from John's bed.

He quickly picked out some nice dress trousers and a dark lavender button up shirt. He gave a side-ways glance at John to make sure he was still asleep before stripping off his pajamas. He kindly put them away into the laundry bag hung up on the door before putting on his clothes. As he stepped into his trousers and tried to hitch them up his legs but caused himself to clumsily fell over on to the ground.

He winced at the immediate pain his shoulder. John woke up at the rather loud noise of Sherlock falling. He sat up and blinked groggily at Sherlock who was now squirming around on the ground trying to pull his pants up. John snorted, attempting to hold back his laughter. "You ok?" John asked.

"Fine." Sherlock growled, getting to his feet.

"If you say so." John murmured, slowly slipping out of bed. He quietly padded across the room and vanished into the bathroom to take a shower. With his shirt already removed hr stripped from his trousers and pants and stepped side the small shower. The pressure and warmth gave a nice awakening to John, it was a luxury compared to his dingy corroded shower at home.

While John continued a long shower, causing steam to roll out from the crack of the door, Sherlock slowly packed up his things for his day of classes hoping to get everything so he wouldn't need to go back to the dorm later. He stuffed a few notebooks and writing utensils into his bag along with his graphing calculator and his laptop. He buckled up flap and slung it over the back of his desk chair searching for his Chucks.

He found them wedged beneath his bed and quickly slipped them on after his socks. Without tying them he slides off the bed and walks over to kitchenette to put on a pot of coffee. He leans against the counter feeling slightly reluctant to going to classes, it still seemed a bit weird and out of place to be here. He assumed soon he would fall into step with his schedule and develop a routine day to day. University didn't seem that bad though, especially with John as his roommate.

As Sherlock sits down in his chair to drink his mug of coffee John walks out of the bathroom with only a towel tucked around his waist. His torso is wonderfully sculpted and his muscles very lean - probably from years of sports, Sherlock guesses, football or rugby most likely.

Sherlock barely remembers John body being so...firm from last night when he neglected to sleep with a shirt on. Now the sun had begun to seep in and highlighted every curve in John's body. Sherlock found himself biting down on his tongue unintentionally and curses under his breath. Before Sherlock ripped his gaze away from John his noticed several small yet prominent scars scattered about John's body.

There were some across his chest and his sides - then as he opened his dresser to fish out a thin red long-sleeved shirt and jeans Sherlock noticed a very long and rather thick pink line trailing from John's shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. Sherlock must have been gaping at the sight because John was glaring back at him, "Would you not stare?" He murmurs.

"John, why do you have all those scars?" Sherlock asks with an unnaturally softened voice.

John turned away, his facial features darkening, and pressed his lips together in a thin white line, "Don't worry about it." He mutters grimly, tucking his clothes under his arms and disappearing back into the bathroom to change.

Sherlock was honestly curious as to how such marks could have been scoured across John's body, it obviously wasn't just some childhood accident like when Sherlock fell from a tree and earned himself a deep gash on his elbow, it was something serious and traumatic. He decided it would be wrong to press the topic further so Sherlock continued to sip at his coffee and started to stash some of things away into his desk drawers.

When John walked back out he remained silent and went to make himself a small bowl of Cheerios as well as pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Are you going to eat?" John asks without looking at Sherlock. He quickly takes a bite and chews blandly.

"No." Sherlock answers, "I'm going to the library in a few minutes, I need to pick up a few books for a paper that I forgot to do yesterday."

John nods, taking a sip of the coffee - which was a bit bitter somehow, "See you at lunch then?"

"I would think so, if not I'll see you at Economics." Sherlock says, getting up and pulling his back up over his shoulder.

"Alright, see you later then." John says, setting his breakfast on his desk.

"See you later." Sherlock nods then heads out of the door.

* * *

Soon enough Sherlock and John did indeed fall into a normal routine for each day. They'd wake up in the mornings a bit early, depending on certain circumstances, they alternated day to day of who took the shower in the morning and who took it at night. John would make cereal or waffles always asking Sherlock if he wanted anything to eat and he almost never ate anything excluding the few mornings where Sherlock too hungry to refuse and picked out toast and jam with his coffee.

They then when off to their classes, Sherlock leaving earlier than John; John would almost always find Molly down stairs in the lobby with Greg Lestrade - he was convinced they were dating - and he'd walk with her to Theater and make small conversation until they arrived. The rest of the morning remained dull and lonely for both roommates.

They both met up for lunch at the dining hall and always sat at the same exact table off to the side by the wall. John always made sure to pick up an apple-cinnamon apple for Sherlock everyday, except for the time they only had strawberry, since Sherlock only usually gets a coffee and a small bagel. Though some days John would get him fish fingers and custard and Sherlock would eat them without argument. They'd talk a bit and Sherlock would complain about his boring classes and how easy they were. He'd even go through his notes he'd taken during the lesson and John would listen intently.

After lunch they'd walk together to Economics and sit together towards the back of the classroom, but never holding hands. They hadn't even brushed fingers since their first day class, but sometimes when John had a rough night of sleep due to nightmares he'd lie his head on Sherlock's shoulder and fall asleep in the middle of the lecture. Several people would glance at them until around the fourth time it happened they stopped and it just became a norm - and Sherlock always printed out the notes that John had missed. Sherlock loved when this happened, the warmth the physical contact brought, the soft breathing pattern when John was asleep lulled Sherlock into a nice calmness and made class less horrid.

After Economics they'd part to finish off the rest of their classes, John finishing before Sherlock. John would get back to the dorm and start up dinner, usually texting Sherlock to ask what he'd prefer. Most of the time he'd just say nothing but sometimes he'd be polite enough to offer idea of what John could make them. Once Sherlock got back they'd sit up on John's bed where they ate or where John made Sherlock eat.

Afterwards they'd start on the papers they needed to get written and any other homework they had to get done. If there wasn't too much for either of them they'd watch Netflix, where Sherlock would ruin every ending to every movie or show, or they'd play video games in which John helped Sherlock improve on. By around midnight John was exhausted and would put on pajamas and go to bed. Sherlock usually stayed up a bit later, either continuing gaming or working on his small experiments, but once he was ready to call it quits for the night he'd crawl into bed with John enjoying the warmth, (except for the days where he and John would get into a row and not speak for the whole day, then he'd crawl into his own chilled bed and lie awake all night).

Then when John would have nightmares Sherlock would hold him tightly to his chest and calmly settle him down until he woke up. Sherlock would remained curled around his roommate until he fell back asleep then would slip away to play his violin very softly as to ward off John's bad dreams, it always seemed to work. He'd play for several hours, usually not going back to sleep that night.

Then they'd wake and repeat every day. They didn't physically progress in their relationship, despite what others might think; but emotionally they grew more and more fond of the other until they both were emotionally and mentally consumed with each other. Neither of them noticed that they replicated feelings, it was just a tense air every day as they went about their routine as if it were perfectly normal for two friends.

Everyone that knew them or saw them assumed they were a couple, they didn't even ask. Except Molly, one day when she ask John about Sherlock.

"You two are really cute, you know? I wish all couples could be so committed and loyal." She smiles at him, on their way to Theater.

John blushes at this, clearing his throat, "We're not together."

"Oh? Really? I'm sorry I just thought...you know everyone does. You two surely do seem like a couple. I didn't mean to..." She said apologetically.

"It's fine." John smiles though feels something stir in his stomach. Longing? Desire? Of course he _wanted _to be a couple but Sherlock wouldn't date John, he just wasn't the type to be tied down to a person in a sentimental way. Especially not to him.

Molly didn't comment on it further but engaged into another topic.

Soon enough something would happen to change their relationship for the better or worse.

_December 20th_

That morning had started as a normal one. Sherlock woke up with all of the covers bunched around him, leaving John shivering besides him asleep. Sherlock yawned and groggily pulled the blankets off of himself and tucked them over John, "Sorry." He mumbled, even though John wasn't awake. He often hogged the sheets and now that it was winter John would start kicking him out of his bed unless he stopped.

Sherlock stretched out his limbs sighing in slight relief that after that day he would have two free weeks ahead of him for Christmas break. He didn't personally indulge in Christmas celebrations but it was nice to have two weeks of ease and free time to conduct experiments and compose music for his violin. It was his morning to take a shower so he grabbed a pair of trousers and stole one of John's ugly Christmas jumpers so he wouldn't freeze during the day, then stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower.

Usually during his shower John would begin to wake up and start getting dressed or hastily try finishing one of his papers, but that morning John snuggled beneath the covers enjoying the new found warmth and didn't bother to get up. He didn't have a class until about two in the afternoon since his Theater and Calculus professor had decided as a Christmas present their classes would be optional for the day. It was also a Friday in which some classes were not on, for him it was Writing, for Sherlock it was Writing and Computer Science.

John was somewhat in a state of consciousness, being able to appreciate the luxury of lying in bed on a week day a few hours more. When Sherlock returned from his shower fully dressed and smelling of expensive cologne he peered over at John a bit confused. He had expected John to be tiredly forcing his shoes on or pouring himself cereal.

Sherlock glanced over at John's clock, it was already eight in the morning. "John! You have classes in an hour!" Sherlock exclaimed, walking over to poke at his roommate beneath the mound of covers.

"Don' have classes 'til afternoon." John grumbled and tried to squirm away from Sherlock's jabbing.

"Seriously? That's no fair." Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms. He would have much rather spend time in the dorm curled around John's warm figure than have to trudge around campus in the snow. He could always just not go, he was perfectly capable of skipping a few classes and not becoming behind. He already knew most of the material anyway. _Tempting,_ Sherlock thought.

Sherlock plopped down onto John's bed, his long limbs spreading across the entire space. "What are you doing?!" John growled, head peeking out from the blankets.

Sherlock grinned at John's bedhead and glazed-over eyes. "Lying down, is that a crime?"

"You have classes in half an hour, I thought." John murmurs, slowly sitting up, trying comb through his hair with his fingers.

"I'm going to skip them. They're boring." Sherlock sighs, grabbing the covers and pulling them over himself.

"You are not, Sherlock! You get your stuff together right now!" John says sternly.

"You are not my mum." He says childishly, "If you get to stay here than I get to too."

"That's not how it works, Sherlock. I am allowed to. You are not." John says in a more calm manner. He pushes Sherlock out of bed, grabbing his arm so he doesn't fall, and climbs out of bed himself. "If I get ready and walk you to Psych will you agree to attend all of your classes?"

Sherlock crosses his arms over his chest and give an annoyed sighs but complies, "Fine."

John smiles, "Good. Just give me a few minutes and I'll be ready. Wait for me out in the lobby."

Sherlock nods and quickly pulls on his Chucks, without tying them, and grabs his bag and laptop leaving John by himself in the dorm. He slowly and carefully traveled down the stairs to where the lobby was. It was still early yet and so there was only one boy loitering in the lobby. Anderson. Sherlock sighed debating on whether or not just going back upstairs to wait but he forced himself to walk in the area of couches and chairs.

He settled down on a couch and set his things beside him before tying his shoes. "Why are you up so early, freshman?" Came the snide voice of the boy sitting across from Sherlock.

Taking a deep breath Sherlock answered in a calm voice, "I have a class in about twenty minutes. I would ask the same of you but it's obvious you're waiting for someone special. Molly perhaps?"

Anderson's face turned a light shade of red from embarrassment and rage, "Are you some sort of stalker?!"

"No, I only deduced. I've seen you before, you don't dress slovenly but you aren't exactly going for posh - but here you are in a ironed dress shirt and trousers. Your hair is styled with product and your cologne - while cheap - is very potent. You're trying to impress someone. Although some people might mistake you for a homosexual there are no signs whatsoever to that so it is assumed you are going after some girl. Who is usually at this dormitory around this time to meet up with her '_friend'_? Molly." Sherlock spoke calmly and clearly as he spit out his reasoning.

"You're a _freak."_ Anderson growls, uncomfortable with some strange person knowing such things about him.

"And you're chasing after a hopeless dream." Sherlock said, standing up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. At this moment John was climbing down the stairs calling for Sherlock, "Well nice seeing you." Sherlock grins and quickly grabs John's hand dragging him out of the building.

"What was that about?" John grumbles, pulling his hand away from Sherlock's death grip.

"It was nothing. Just keeping away trouble by allowing people not to get their hopes up." Sherlock shrugs. John just sighs and doesn't comment further but keeps in step with his roommate, shivering slightly at the freezing winter air.

"You cold?" Sherlock asks halfway there.

"Well yes, you took my thickest jumper. Don't you have your own?" John complains.

"I have one or two thin ones. I don't like them." Sherlock answers.

John rolls his eyes, "Doesn't mean you've got to take mine." He mutters.

When they get to Sherlock's class John has to practically push his curly-haired companion into the building. Sherlock complains about having to go into class so John walks him all the way to the room where Psych is held. Halfway to the room Sherlock wouldn't budge so John had to hold his hand and drag him there. "You're such a child sometimes, Sherlock." John huffs, finally arriving at the class, "Now get in there, you only have five minutes until it starts."

"Can't you come with me?" Sherlock asks with big round sad eyes.

"No, Sherlock. You know I can't." John says impatiently, "It'd still be boring with me there, so just go."

"Nothings boring with you." Sherlock says in a soft and serious tone.

John finds himself blushing at the statement and he shakes his head, trying to grasp his voice, "Sherlock, please just go, you'll be fine. I'll meet you for lunch, okay?"

Sherlock glared down at John but turned and went into the classroom, leaving John to stand there for a few minutes trying to gather his thoughts.

They met together at the dining hall, John had bought Sherlock fish fingers and custard hoping to cheer him up. Sherlock sighed and gave up his anger towards John leaving him and happily took John's offering, "Thanks. You were right, it wasn't that bad of a day." He murmurs between custard and fish.

"I'm glad." John smiles and starts on his own lunch of a hamburger, apple slices, and a water.

They remain silent as they munch at their lunches and once they both finished they lounged a bit as they still had a while until their Economics class.

"So, are you going home for Holiday?" John asks, drinking down the last swig of water.

"No. I prefer as much time away from my family as possible." Sherlock answers coldly, "How about you?"

"I'm not sure yet, I might go down to see my family for a few days, but they aren't the best to be around at times." John replies, studying Sherlock, "Why are you so distant from your family, might I ask?"

Sherlock looks up at John, his impassive mask immediately put up, he remains silent - waiting for John to just change the subject but he doesn't.

"Are they terrible people or something?" John queries.

"John, this discussion is over." Sherlock says in a firm and empty voice.

John sighs but leaves it be, knowing that he'll never get his childhood story, "Fine."

They remain in a slightly uncomfortable silence for the rest of their time in the dining hall and they soon left to head to Economics. As they walk Sherlock becomes angry with the awkward silence and let out an annoyed sigh, "Look, John. I'm sorry I won't tell you about my family but I just don't want to. If I ever feel the need to I will, just please don't press for it."

"Okay, I'm sorry." John mumbles, avoiding eye contact. Sherlock then did something he hadn't in a while, he grabbed John's hand and gently intertwined his fingers with his. John smiled at that and gave Sherlock's hand a soft squeeze.

They kept their hands together as they sat in class, Sherlock's thumb softly moving over the soft skin on John's hand. In the middle of the lecture leaned over to John to whisper in his ear, "Would you be able to stay here with me until Christmas Eve?" He asks.

"Probably, yeah." John answers, looking over at Sherlock, "If that's what you want."

Sherlock smiles and nods, clasping both of his hands around John's one.

When Sherlock arrives back at the dorm after his last class he feels unusually exhausted, even though two of his classes were cut from his schedule due to it being Friday. John is situated at his desk, typing furiously on his laptop, trying to get a paper done most likely. He looks up when Sherlock shuts the door and throws his things onto his bed, "Hey, Sherlock! How was Chemistry?" John greets.

"S'okay." He murmurs, walking over to climb up on to John's bed. He lets out a loud sneeze, then another. John glances up at him - _exhaustion, sneezing, pale complexion. _It was quite possible that Sherlock was coming down with a cold but John kept his suggestions of taking medicine to himself for now, not wanting Sherlock to complain or start a fight with him.

By five in the evening when John had just settled on making peanut-butter sandwiches he found Sherlock under his covers fast asleep - the peaceful look of his face caused a soft smile to curl onto John's lips. He reached out to graze his fingers over his prominent cheek bones, and soft alabaster skin. He pressed the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead, he was very warm, enough to have a decently high temperature.

"Sherlock?" He says in soft voice, stroking his unruly curls.

Sherlock leans into the touch, "Hmm?"

"I think you've got a fever." John tells him, "I can go to a drug store for some medicine, is that okay?"

"Don't leave." Sherlock murmurs, opening his eyes slightly, "Don' feel good."

"Yes, that's why I need to get you some medicine. You stay here and rest and I'll be right back, alright?" John reassures him, but Sherlock shakes his head and gets up from bed, John trying to push him back down.

Sherlock refuses, "I'm going with you." He says. He's shivering which concerns John but he's too stubborn to be fought with so he makes Sherlock put on his coat and scarf before they leave. Sherlock looks awful, obviously having a fever, and most likely having a cold. John wrapped his arm tightly around Sherlock's and leads him quickly outside to his beat up Ford Escort.

They both get inside, John immediately turns on the heater after turning on the car. "When did you start feeling like this?" John asks, as he pulls out of his parking space. Sherlock just shrugs and leans back in his seat, fighting to keep his open. John sighs but remains silent the whole way to town where there was a large area of supermarkets, drug stores, movie rental places, fast food places, and smaller family-owned restaurants.

"Stay in here while I get your medicine, okay? I'm leaving the car on so you don't freeze." John says, getting a very faint nod and grunt from his paled, sickly looking roommate. John nods and shuts the door and quickly darts inside to avoid the chilling air. He spends a brief time going down the medicine aisle looking for a good bottle of cold medicine or something to kill his fever.

He rushes the cashier to ring up his things and gets back out to the car where he find Sherlock asleep in the passenger seat, snoring lightly. John chuckles lightly, it was going to be entertaining to take of care of sleepy and sick Sherlock. Very tedious though.

* * *

**A/N: I'm amazed by the number of favorites and follows on this story! So thank you! Please feel free to leave a review, they motivate me GREATLY. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!**


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